Prince of the Courts
by J.C.Sebastian.Morgenstern
Summary: It's been 25 years since the Cold Peace was signed at the conclusion of the Dark War, and seeds planted long ago are coming to fruition as two new half-Shadowhunters find each other and start on a journey that will take them through the Faerie Courts, the Mundane world, and a Downworld you've never seen... Cover art by @shadowhunters-inspire-me on Tumblr, follow her for more edits!
1. Prologue

**1**

 **Prologue**

 _Autumn, 2028_

With one final shove, Sera pushed her mother's funeral ship into the cold waters of lake, sending gentle ripples ahead of it to herald her passing into the afterlife. She picked up her bow from where it lay against her pack and pulled out a lighter, sparking a flame to light the arrow that was waiting for one last flight. It was easy for Sera to make the shot, in more ways than one.

The arrow thudded into the bundle of kindling, igniting the carefully-made pile and spreading to the rest of the tiny vessel. It was an old canoe in truth, but it would serve for her mother. Shadowhunters were burned when they died, and whatever else her mother had done, she had been a Shadowhunter.

She watched the canoe drift out farther into the lake, and the wind blowing down from the north was cold as she inhaled. An early blast of winter had come to strip the Muskoka Lakes of their autumn beauty; a thin layer of snow had already covered the ground and would soon bury the land around her tiny cottage. Her breath fogged the air as she exhaled. Everything matched what she had seen in her dream. She had been waiting for this day for nearly a year.

Turning away from the lake, Sera walked back up the embankment toward the cottage. It was time to close it up for good and get moving. No time to waste.

It was easy to pack; she'd never had much out here in the isolated cottage where she had been born and raised. Never allowed to stray far from the lake, her mother had been desperate to keep her hidden from the Clave, from Downworlders, from everything for the last 17 years. Her training had been lonely, but hard; her mother had seen to that. But her mother couldn't protect her from the dreams, and Sera had long-since learned to stop sharing them with her.

While awake, Sera's heart had been chained to this lake and her mother, but it was the hours she spent dreaming that she truly lived for. Her father's blood had given her that much, at least.

A small bundle of food joined what little she had already shoved into her pack and her hands passed by the hand-carved gifts from her mother, and her own childish crafts made years ago. None of it mattered anymore. This part of her life was ending, and she wasn't going to need it where she was going.

She knelt down and pried a stone free from the edge of the hearth, reaching into the space behind it to pull out the last of her family's precious heirlooms. Glittering sapphires and shining diamonds sparkled up at her, and matching earrings followed the necklace into her pack. It would be enough to get her started. That was all she needed. A good start.

She rose, brushing the ashes from the hearth off her jeans. There were still hours of daylight left to get to the highway and catch her ride into town.

As she took one last look at the tiny interior of the cottage, she caught a flash of a vision – her mother's stele, tucked away in the bedside table drawer.

Sera shook her head, willing the vision to jump further and show her why, to give her a reason to take this piece of her mother's life with her. Nothing more came. She sighed and crossed the room to her mother's bedroom. These flashes were so seldom wrong. She slipped the stele into the side pocket of the pack. _Just in case_ , she thought. Although why _she_ would need a stele, of all people, was beyond her.

The door closed tightly behind her but she didn't lock it; there was no lock. Maybe someone would need a safe place to stay someday and find this abandoned cottage. Maybe animals would manage to push their way in and live like kings. The only thing that was certain was that she wasn't coming back. Not ever.

The trees welcomed her as she passed from the clearing into the protection of their boughs. Aged trunks slid by and great branches dipped overhead, escorting her away from everything she had known in her waking life, silent sentinels that had watched her grow up amongst them. Her dreams had shown her so much, but she still knew so little of what was needed. As she walked, she let her mind drift back to where it always went, to the first dream that had set her on this path, to _him._

 _Sera had been 11 the first time she dreamed of him. It had been among the first of her dreams that felt_ different _. These ones were special. Sometimes they held hints of what the future could be, sometimes they felt so strongly of the present that Sera was certain that they were really happening at that moment, and sometimes they took on a faded quality that made them feel like things that had already happened._

 _This dream was strong, and its sense of immediacy was overwhelming. This was happening. This was real._

 _Great, dark trees rose all around her, high into the night sky, exaggerated by dream sense, as things often are. They ringed an expansive clearing where glimmering Faerie lights floated in the air, unsupported, twinkling with a lazy grace. Starlight shone down on the clearing, adding to the ethereal illumination._

 _The dream flashed, and now the space was filled with beautiful and terrible creatures, creatures she never could have imagined. Slender bodies in every imaginable hue, some winged, some horned, others even more exotic. Flowing hair shimmered in wild colours, and jarred the eye with incongruous glimpses of chitin and claws. Feral eyes flashed above perfect smiles, and delicate limbs sometimes ended in talons or hooves. She couldn't hear the music, but she knew it was there and could feel it thrumming through her chest, pulling at her heart without being able to hear a single note. She could see some of the Fey farther back in the trees, dancing and twisting in the night, helplessly ensnared by the music and throwing away every thought except of dancing more in their lust for pleasure._

 _Wings fluttered impatiently and antlers twisted around as heads turned to see what was happening at the far end of the clearing. Sera slipped closer in her dream, sliding through the crowd of achingly beautiful monsters. She drifted through the last bit of spectators and could at last see what was drawing their attention._

 _A great throne of twisted oak rose from the earth, clearly not an original part of the clearing. Gnarled limbs extended from the back, twisting upward almost painfully, cursed to never again know the clean lines their limbs once bore proudly. Upon the throne was a Faerie woman of surpassing beauty, her elaborately-styled red tresses so lush even in a dream that Sera ached to reach out and touch them. She was gowned in diaphanous gold, the folds clinging where they should and flowing gracefully everywhere else. A crown was just visible in her hairstyle, and Sera surmised that this must be the Seelie Queen she had heard of during her mother's lectures._

 _The silent music humming through her chest faded and the Seelie Queen rose from her throne with grace that spoke of a thousand years of addressing her subjects. Her ice-blue eyes pierced the assembled crowd and Sera could feel the weight of that gaze as it swept by her, the power that radiated from a Queen of Faerie. Rosebud lips parted and the Queen spoke,_

" _Welcome, my faithful and loyal subjects. The Seelie Court makes free with its food and drink this night, that you may revel and take pleasure in it and from each other," she paused as the crowd cheered and raised glasses filled with every colour of drink Sera could imagine, and a few she couldn't._

" _Even now, the Nephilim and their Downworld allies celebrate the renewal of their Accords in the City of Glass, without the Fair Folk." The crowd hissed at this, and the Queen raised her hands to stay their anger._

" _The Nephilim children do not understand that we, the most powerful and oldest of Races, care nothing for their human laws. If they think to grind us under their heels, they will learn to their woe that we were here long before their kind, and will live on long after they are wiped from this earth."_

 _The gathered Faeries stamped loudly with ill-assorted feet and hooves, cheering wildly and Sera could feel the blood-lust growing in the crowd, that feeling that comes from being on the very precipice of becoming a mob._

" _The Shadowhunters think they have the power to strip us of our weapons and deny our legendary warriors their right to bear arms. I laugh in the face of this order. Let our warriors come forth now to entertain us with their skill and valour!" The Seelie Queen clapped her hands together twice and a gap opened behind and to the side of her throne._

 _Two-dozen Faerie knights, armed and armoured in splendour marched forward. Great, antlered helms, white chain-link mail, even a crusted bark-like armour streamed past the twisted throne until they stood before their Queen and knelt as one. Sera could see that many of them had the slimmer and smaller forms of females under beautiful armour, delicate hands braced on hilts or fingering blades strapped to thighs._

 _One, at the far end, was smaller than the rest and wore a double-bladed staff across their back. The blades were wickedly curved at the ends, and the weapon looked almost too large for the Faerie knight. Light-weight black leather armour covered the Faerie from head to toe, including a mask that covered their face from the eyes down. A shock of ice-white hair spilled down, nearly shoulder-length, slightly pointed ears just visible. The knight's gaze was riveted on the Seelie Queen, and Sera moved even closer to the gnarled throne to get a closer look. Something about this particular knight drew her in, and she crossed in front of the throne._

 _The knight's eyes snapped to Sera, looking right at her for just an instant. Eyes of the deepest emerald fixed Sera in place, holding her captive as surely as chains. This wasn't possible. It was a dream. No one could see her. A hint on confusion darkened the knight's expression and Sera used the distraction to wrench herself away, vanishing from where she stood in front of the throne. She found herself back in the crowd, just another spectator again._

 _The dream flashed again, and now the leather-clad Faerie knight was in the centre of the clearing, a make-shift arena, and the double-bladed staff was gripped in gloved hands. Sera had been wrong earlier; it wasn't too big. It fit every line of the knight perfectly, and she knew that it would be wielded with deadly grace._

 _The ground within the arena boundaries was rough and torn up. Many matches must have been fought already, but if Sera was seeing this one, it must be important._

 _There was a stirring at the eastern end of the clearing and Sera moved closer to hear what was being said. A massive man with eyes of two different colours was holding a horned helmet under one arm and was gripping the shoulder of another Faerie with his other hand. A long blade of hammered metal hung at the large Faerie's waist, black and twisted like it had been burned over and over again. The Faerie he held had nearly black hair with a sheen of blue and green shot through, almost as if it couldn't decide what colour to settle on. His eyes were two different colours as well, but both black and silver burned with equal intensity. He shook free of the other's grip and sneered._

" _I will pay whatever blood-price the Queen has set to do battle with her whelp, Gwyn."_

 _The larger Faerie shook his head slowly, sadly. "Let the past stay in the past, Kieran. The mortal world has seen many years pass since that day; let your heart see them pass as well."_

 _Kieran's face twisted for a moment. "You cannot understand. I will do this thing, and then my heart will allow some of the pain to bleed away. Give me leave to fight, that I might find peace."_

 _Gwyn settled back a bit within his great cloak, seeming to take the measure of the other Faerie as if weighing his heart in those massive hands._

 _Gwyn tilted his head and said, "You would fight to find peace, Hunter? You are still so young," He shook his head, and for a moment, Kieran's face fell. "Do what you must."_

 _A dark light seemed to fall across Kieran's face as Gwyn melted back into the crowd of fierce Faerie faces around him, the wildness of Faerie chillingly palpable to Sera, even through the dream. These Faeries, these Hunters, were different from the rest. Kieran bounded forward into the arena to stand across from the leather-clad Faerie knight who still stood waiting, staff in hand._

 _The Seelie Queen rose from her throne once more, her face alive with a wild pleasure at the two combatants in the arena. Her voice soared over the crowd,_

" _My lord Gwyn of the Hunt! You honour us by allowing one of your Hunters to join in our little games! How delightful!" She clapped her hands once more and settled back to watch, anticipation lighting up the beautiful lines of her curving smile._

 _In the arena, Kieran pulled battered white gauntlets from his belt and pulled them on slowly, fingers easing into familiar material now worn from a thousand battles. He flexed his hands and looked at them intently for a moment, lost in memories that Sera couldn't imagine._

 _The Hunter's hands flashed too quickly for Sera's eyes to follow and a blade whipped out of its sheathe at his waist, arcing for the knight in a silver flicker, and she was certain it was over before it could even begin._

 _The knight vanished, faint wisps of black smoke curling in the air where he had stood. Before Sera could even begin to process it, he had reappeared behind the Hunter, staff sweeping up to strike at his unprotected back. The Hunter was caught completely off guard and off balance, nearly stumbling through the empty space where his opponent should have been standing._

 _The knight's staff sliced across the Hunter's back, leaving a shallow slash through armour and flesh alike. The Hunter spun around with lightning speed, darting back for another strike and was parried by the knight, staff whirling, deadly blades flashing in the Faerie light._

 _The spectators were drunk with their intoxicating delights, enchanted by their own food, and were screaming with blood-lust as the two combatants met again in a clash of steel. The knight feinted and struck and parried, pushing the Hunter back on his heels, and Sera could see the intense focus locked in those green eyes._

 _The Hunter snarled, a second blade appearing in his left hand, and now they wove a deadly dance between them, staff spinning deftly in black gloves, sword and dagger in white gauntlets. The Hunter pressed back, slashing and darting, maddened by his opponent in a way that Sera couldn't understand._

 _Seconds ticked by and all of the jeers from the crowd, the still-inaudible music, and even the sharp shearing noises coming from the blades began to fade away until Sera was watching the fight in nearly silent slow-motion._

 _In moves that would have been too fast for her to see if the dream had not slowed, Sera saw the Hunter's dagger snake past the blurred staff, aiming for the knight's heart. The second stretched and Sera's breath caught in her throat, her own heartbeat slowed to a single hard pulse as the knight vanished again, now behind the Hunter, hand closed over the dagger hilt as it drove toward where it would have pierced flesh._

 _The dream snapped back to regular speed and suddenly the Hunter was on his back on the ground, thrown down by the knight taking advantage of the forward momentum. The knight still held the dagger and in the second that it took the Hunter to comprehend what had just happened, the dagger pierced the Hunter's left hand, pinning him to the ground._

 _The Hunter screamed in pain and the knight stepped back, the fight concluded._

 _The knight retreated a few more paces and knelt, facing the Seelie Queen once more, and raised the staff in salute, offering the honour of the victory to her. Her eyes blazed and she couldn't contain the satisfaction that curled up the edges of her smile. She fixed her eyes on the knight and nodded once in approval, accepting the victory as her own._

 _The Hunter, forgotten on the torn ground, wrenched his own dagger from his left hand and dropped it into the dirt as he rose to his knees, chest heaving, his lips frozen in a rictus of pain and rage at the humiliation he was consumed by. A touch of madness had a hold of his mind, dulling the pain in his hand and back. He launched himself at the knight, clawing and grasping at the leather armour._

 _The knight turned in shock at the unexpected attack. The Hunter tore at the armour, crazed, and hissed at the knight, "You are not a Shadowhunter." The knight grappled with the Hunter, still confused. The Hunter ripped away an arm guard and reached back in for more, still tearing away at anything he could get a grip on._

" _You are not a Shadowhunter!" The Hunter screamed at the knight, pulling away the mask that had protected the lower half of the knight's face._

 _Massive arms encircled the Hunter, trapping him, and Gwyn lifted Kieran away from the knight. Kicking and struggling, the Hunter was pulled backwards by Gwyn, his face now streaked with tears that smeared through the dust kicked up by the fight, the pain in his eyes bleeding through the anger. The Hunter shouted one last time as he was carried away, "You are_ not _a Shadowhunter!"_

 _Sera's heart was racing as she looked back at the knight, still kneeling in the dirt, armour torn away in places. She had misjudged earlier; she thought the knight had been a female because of their small stature. But she was looking a boy, barely older than her perhaps, though it was always hard to tell with Faeries. She could just see the edge of one of the Angel's runes on his forearm. He was watching Gwyn carry away the maddened Hunter, a look of hurt etched on his face. He looked back at the Seelie Queen for direction, uncertainty clear in his eyes._

 _She beckoned him to kneel at her feet. When he had done so, she stood and gently stroked the side of his face. "You did well, my son."_

Sera cursed under her breath as her foot turned on a rock hidden by the snow. Hours of walking in the cold had not improved her mood.

The first dream had been burned into her memory for the last six years. There had been others, of course, so many others, but that one always stood foremost. The other, from last winter, had been much darker. It had had the feeling that always came when tendrils of the future twisted back through time to tease at her dreams. She had seen him. Seen him hunted. Seen him squared against his mother's enemies, and his father's. She'd seen him win. She'd seen him lose. She'd seen him die.

But there was still time to fix it. _The future isn't set until it becomes the present, and by then it's already in the past,_ she thought to herself as she trudged through the forest toward the road where a silver car would be kind enough to stop and give her a ride into town. That darker dream had absolutely resonated with a sense of time, telling her when it would come to pass. Warning her how long she had left to change it.

The road appeared ahead of her and she scrambled up from the deep ditch and started walking south along the shoulder. Her breath puffed out as twilight started to fall, the chill already settled into her hands and feet from the long walk. She thought about her mother's funeral pyre slipping under the water of the lake where they had lived out her mother's exile. She thought about her father, whom she had never known, but had caught glimpses of in dreams of the past. She thought about how much work it was going to be to get ready for what was coming. But most of all, she thought about _him._

Sera turned around and peered down the road, searching for headlights. Light bloomed from around a bend and she flung out her right arm, thumb up, walking backwards and huffed a few more clouds of breath as she waited.

A silver Honda slowed and then stopped just past her and she jogged over, hitching her pack to one shoulder, ready to sling it into the trunk. The passenger-side window whirred down and the driver called out to her, "You need some help?"

 _More than you know_ , she thought.

The trunk popped open and Sera tossed what was left of her old life inside, then climbed into the passenger seat. She nodded when the driver asked if she wanted a lift into town, and she thanked him.

She leaned her temple against the window and watched as the lakes and forests were blanketed over by darkness, erasing everything except the bit of road that she could still see in the headlights. _Seems about right_ , she thought to herself.

Her eyes started to close, and the last thought she held on to was the one that had driven her every day for nearly a year.

 _I have five years left to get ready. I have five years left to figure out how to save him._


	2. Chapter 1

_**1**_

 _September 2008_

The Queen of the Seelie Court screamed in agony one last time, her hands clenched around a bloody sheet. She took in a shaky breath and looked to where her handmaiden, Kaelie Whitewillow, was now holding a healthy child smeared with her blood.

"It's a male," she said softly, wiping away some of the mess and moving to the basin to begin washing him clean.

The Seelie Queen nodded absently, already lost in her thoughts about the new life she had created. She had bedded Sebastian Morgenstern for selfish reasons in those final days before the turn of the new year, before the Cold Peace, taking a mortal lover because it had pleased her to find a Shadowhunter with such an agreeable temperament. Shadowhunters had always held a particular fascination for her, with their shared Heavenly ancestry. But Sebastian Morgenstern had had one thing more – a touch of Greater Demon blood. He had been an entirely unique creature, and quiet exciting in their pleasures. Now she had mixed that unusual blood with her own and taken Valentine Morgenstern's experiment farther than he could have ever imagined.

She looked around her birthing bed, glossing over the handmaidens and looked to her daughters who had chosen to attend the birth of their half-brother. Perhaps she could entice one of them to raise the child; a Queen could not be seen caring for an infant. Especially not a half-Shadowhunter, not with the political current in this state. She would turn this child into an advantage – all that remained was determining how.

"My daughters. Your new brother is unlike anything this world has ever seen. Who among you will accept the honour of caring for him as he learns his place in our Court?" The Queen waited.

A tall, lithe figure stepped away from one of the walls where wildflowers bloomed between the cracks and tree roots trailed down from the ceiling. She tossed back long hair the colour of chocolate, her eyebrows arched imperiously and her upper lip curled in disdain.

"'E iz an embarrassment to zis Court, muzzer. Better to kill 'im at once and display ze body for zose 'oo wish to see you lose your throne for what 'appened with ze Cold Peace." Alvariléa had spent much of her time enjoying her pleasures with the Mundanes of Paris, and had made no secret of her hatred for the Faerie's reduced status in the world.

Her dark eyes flashed as they fixed on the oddly-silent baby in Kaelie's arms, "I came 'ere today to see 'im born dead, but it iz cleer zat I will be disappointed. I will 'ave no part of 'im." She turned sharply to stalk out of the room and the delicate curtain threaded through with tiny charms and bells tinkled softly as she left.

Inwardly, the Seelie Queen seethed. There were too many in the Court who had been rumbling about what the Cold Peace had done to the Fey. They were all too young to understand, as she did, that this was only temporary. The Shadowhunters would soon see their error in cutting away the strongest of the Downworlders. They would come begging on their knees soon enough, and she had a mind to have the path strewn with broken glass. She had held the Seelie Throne for more centuries than she cared to count, and she wasn't going to be brought low by these children.

"I will take him, mother." Another of her daughters had stepped forward. Lilac-coloured hair drifted to her waist in lazy, spiralling tresses much like her mother's. Her skin was pale, brushed in places with the softest of purples, and even her eyes were violet-hued. Gossamer wings flitted nervously as she met her mother's eyes, and then looked away from her iron gaze immediately. Arynessa.

A flicker of unease passed through the Queen while she considered the offer. Her eyes bored into her daughter's face as she called on a sliver of her power to force Arynessa to meet the enquiring stare. Clear, blue eyes did silent battle with violet. Holding her daughter's attention, she rifled quickly through the thoughts that were fluttering like trapped moths as a flame approached. One was stronger than the rest. Arynessa, holding an infant boy, with a girl-child of barely two Mortal years clutching at her leg. Each bore the tell-tale, slightly pointed ears of those who had a touch of the Fey. The Queen could feel the longing pouring across the link between them. The silence stretched between the two and some of her other daughters and the handmaidens shifted uncomfortably. The power in the room was perceptible even to them.

"Very well, Arynessa. He will be yours to rear. I will ensure that your brother Baelerithon is present as well, to see that he learns Courtly manners and the history of our people. Between the two of you, I expect you to produce something extraordinary with the breeding I am giving you to work with." She paused, drawing on her power again to drape a layer of menace over the room. Arynessa shivered as it laid across her. "Failure would be most unpleasant, daughter."

Arynessa bowed her head. "Thank you, mother."

The Queen flicked a hand at Kaelie, beckoning her to bring the infant closer now that he was clean. He was still quiet, moving gently within his swaddling. She looked upon his face and was surprised to see eyes of the deepest green looking back at her quizzically. A matte of wispy white hair was visible, and the Queen nodded to herself, pleased with his colouring. Rather a great deal of his father, it would seem. She wondered at how much of herself would be reflected in his soul if so little showed on his face. Interesting, indeed.

The Queen was reminded of another Shadowhunter, fair to look upon and pleasing in his speech. A smile twisted her lips as she considered her newest son.

"Let the child be called Rayce, and let him bear the name of the Morning Star like his father before him," she proclaimed. "The Morgensterns have been nothing if not entertaining to watch. So, too, shall this one be."

The Seelie Queen waved the infant away and Kaelie moved to place the bundle in Arynessa's arms. The princess fixed a rapturous, hungry gaze on the child as she took him from the handmaiden. The Seelie Queen moved to stand and she dismissed her waiting daughters. Her handmaidens moved in to attend to her as the others filed out of the chamber.

That was when the Queen first heard Rayce Morgenstern begin to cry.

 _July, 2012_

"Rayce, you must be very silent and very attentive today. Mother will not be pleased if you are unruly. Do you understand?" Arynessa crouched down in front of the child and held his chin in her left hand. His green eyes met her purple stare and she repeated her question.

"Yesth, sithster." His face split into a mischievous grin and he lunged forward impulsively to hug her. She rocked back on her heels and brought her arms up hesitantly. It still surprised her after nearly four years that he could trust so freely and love so easily. She ran her fingers through his messy mop of soft, white hair, tracing the slight point to his ears. He really had become quite a beautiful child.

She stood and took his hand, leading him away from the cloistered set of rooms that served as their home in the Seelie Court. A great room served as the entryway, high-ceilinged and wide to accommodate the training he would soon begin. Flowing lines in the sandalwood walls brightened what could have been a gloomy space. Hanging Faerie lights dangled from the high ceiling and were spaced along the walls, their glow easy to dim or brighten with a thought.

Off the left side of the great room ran a hallway that gave access to four bedrooms and a place to wash. The largest bedroom was hers, the smallest belonged to Rayce. The other two were unoccupied, as of yet, though Arynessa expected that to change in the near-future. Off the right side of the great room was a small area to prepare and share meals, and a study where Baelerithon dutifully gave Rayce his lessons. A small space to live in exile, but Arynessa found herself unexpectedly happy with the life she was creating here.

She pulled the door closed behind her and touched her hand to a darker patch of wood next to the knob. Roots from around the door twisted inward, joining smoothly around the seams, and the apartments were effectively locked away. She frowned at the reminder that the seemingly happy life she had was not necessarily something that others among the Fey were happy about.

Will-o-the-wisp lamps brightened in the tunnels as Arynessa and Rayce approached, and darkened as they passed, leaving them in a moving sphere of light. These passages were rarely used, and the Seelie Queen had given them a space far from the throne room to deter any mischief. There had been a few incidents in the beginning, until her mother had drawn out the agony of the last perpetrator's suffering for several mortal weeks. Arynessa already knew that her mother was a master of those arts.

Rayce was scurrying along at her side to keep up with her longer strides, humming a Faerie ballad to himself. Her eyebrows furrowed. Again, he surprised her. She had been humming to herself while washing up after their meal last night; he must have been listening without her knowing he was there.

Soon, they reached the busier tunnels near the throne room and Arynessa slowed, not wishing to be seen hurrying to wait in attendance on her mother. Today's meeting had the potential to be important for the future of the Courts, and the Queen had wanted as many of her children and courtiers around her as possible as a show of strength, but Arynessa wasn't interested in playing the role of lapdog. Looking after Rayce until he came of age would take only a few of her endless years, and she didn't want to return to the Court demeaned in any way. She had always enjoyed a position of strength.

She brushed aside a shimmering curtain of trailing moss that gave off a gentle glow of the worms nestled within. Arynessa stopped and looked closer. They were alive and in good health. She made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. Her mother must be in a very good mood.

Inside the throne room, that good mood was even more clearly in evidence. A carpet of soft, rolling moss covered the ground, rising gently to where the Queen's throne sat on a small atoll. Today, her throne was cut from glittering crystal that sparkled from the tightly-clustered Faerie lights above, almost an imitation of sitting in a ray of sunshine. The chamber walls were loosely-spaced trunks of trees, through which the illusion of distance had been created with a glamour, giving the throne room the appearance of a vast, open space. Butterflies flitted around flowers that rose from the moss and doves roosted in some of the boughs above.

A great expanse of mirror was suspended in the air below the atoll at a short distance, affording an impressive view of the chamber's current styling. Arynessa settled herself and Rayce in the moss near the foot of the atoll, far enough way from the throne that he would not be easily seen, but close enough that others would she where she sat. The darkened mirror was close; they would have a good view.

Soft murmuring filled the chamber and Arynessa listened with only half an ear. Scrying with the King of the Unseelie Court was not common, but she had been a princess of the Court long enough for the novelty to have worn off a bit. It was far more important for her to observe those gathered, and more importantly, those who had chosen not to come.

As her eyes played over the courtiers, she picked out many of her siblings among them, chatting easily. Her eyes narrowed. Were they solidifying support for her mother, or fostering dissension? She almost wished she hadn't chosen to ensconce herself so quickly. Perhaps it would have been advantageous to filter through the room; a shoulder touched here, a slight nod of her head there... But no. She looked behind her to where Rayce was sprawled on his back in the moss, arms and legs flung out carelessly.

Rayce was staring up at the Faerie lights above and the hovering butterflies, entranced. He had never been permitted to leave their apartments before. A butterfly floated closer and he raised his hand to it, offering a perch. It alighted gently on the back of his hand and he froze, staring intently at the pattern of its wings, memorizing the shape of them.

The butt of an elaborately carved wooden staff slammed down at the entrance to the chamber to the left side of the throne, startling the butterfly from Rayce's hand. He sat up and twisted around, but couldn't see past the assembled guests.

A dozen Faerie knights in two columns marched sedately into the throne room and stopped. They turned to face each other and then stepped back as one, opening an aisle between them, and drew their swords in a synchronized motion to hold them outstretched overhead, the points of one column meeting those of the other.

The Queen of the Seelie Court entered then, and Arynessa held back a gasp of wonder. Folds of gossamer silver wrapped around her mother's body, shot through with bursts of platinum, and jewels dazzled at her throat. Her red locks had been bound up in silver threads that dangled diamonds haphazardly throughout the arrangement and sparkled off the Seelie crown.

Arynessa had not seen her mother arrayed so brilliantly in some time; the wealth of the Court had dwindled miserably as the Fey had been obligated to pay for the restoration of Alicante and many of the Institutes attacked by Sebastian Morgenstern.

The Seelie Queen mounted her crystal throne and sat back delicately, hands lightly caressing the edges of the armrests. She nodded to two of the Fey kneeling at either edge of the scrying mirror. On her command, they each touched a bottom corner of the glass and it came to life slowly, revealing the Unseelie Court on the other side.

Whereas the Seelie Queen had expended great effort to create a beautiful throne room for the reception, it was clear that the King of the Unseelie Court had gone to no such trouble. The scrying mirror seemed to strain trying to reflect enough light from its gloomy image. A dark cavern stretched out from the mirror, and a rough throne of unworked stone rose from the floor as if it were a single piece. A few licks of blue flame flickered unsupported around the throne, illuminating a little of its surroundings. Dark shadows gathered behind the throne; Unseelie courtiers.

The Unseelie King stepped into view, the throne many paces behind him, and he seemed larger than life to those watching from the Seelie Court. Dark hair rippled to his shoulders, bound by an ancient bronze crown. His black eyes seemed to draw in the darkness of the cavern around him, feeding on the black emptiness. The Queen fixed her gaze on him and opened her arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

"My Lord, today is an auspicious day for our people. The Nephilim have taken the last of the blood money for their Glass City. Nearly all of their Institutes are rebuilt. Today we may begin restoring our thrones to glory!" She smiled wildly as a smattering of polite applause filled her chamber.

No sound came from the Unseelie Court. The King tilted his head.

"Do you think it over, Fair One?" His voice was deep, resonating through both of the Courts. "The price may be paid, but there is work still to be done. My people will stay their celebratory revels, I think." He extended his arms out to indicate those behind him. "We needs must continue to labour for the Children of Raziel."

The Queen tightened her grip on on the throne. "How fortunate, then, that I chose not to make my people into slaves for the Nephilim. It would not please me to see them toiling with stone and wood to renew the houses of our enemies as payment for the Dark War."

"Yes, instead you would beggar your realm!" The Unseelie King's eyes blazed as he took in her jewels and finery. His look said that he understood they were a sham, a show for the courtiers who didn't know how empty the Seelie coffers were.

The Seelie Queen rose from her throne, seething inwardly. "Do not presume to think I do not know what Iarlath is doing in the Mundane city of lost angels. Is that what the Unseelie Court has become? A haunt for Fey who glamour mortals into parting with their worldly wealth?" She scoffed. "It gives me cause to wonder what else he may be doing there. Whispers of dead Faeries in that area have reached my ears even here."

The King looked thoughtful for a moment, and inclined his head to her. "Better a clever thief than a foolish pawn, Sammaradriel."

Both Courts fell absolutely silent.

Outwardly, the Queen revealed nothing. On the inside, she felt a fury rise in her breast that she had not felt in centuries. _How dare he insult me and speak my given name in the same breath! He will pay in blood for this!_ Her silent anger was drawing down power, filling the room, and the edges of the scrying mirror creaked and warped.

"Have any more of your sons tried to steal your throne, Luchaereon?" She taunted. "How many more will you throw to the Hunt because you are too weak to prune your family tree?" Her hands clenched at her sides, throbbing with the beat of her pulse as it raged within her.

The King's smile was cold and slow in coming. Arynessa saw several of the Seelie courtiers around the edge of the room slip away and vanish through the exits.

"Kieran will be treated gently by the Hunt; I have seen to that. He will have a long, long life of suffering with them that will never be cut short by the fleeting hatred of another. He will work for his people during his exile, a far more useful purpose than a quick death. My son's punishment will be eternal and he will no know rest nor peace." He paused. "Are you so very comfortable on _your_ throne, my Lady?"

The King of the Unseelie Court turned his back on the scrying mirror and gestured sharply, dark energy racing down his hand to snap out at the mirror. It shattered into pieces, smashing down into the moss near the foot of the atoll.

Arynessa cried out and dove backwards, protecting Rayce with her body. The moss cushioned the fall of the glass, though, and any real damage was avoided. Her chest heaved as she looked down to where Rayce was nestled under her, looking up with frightened eyes. She lifted a finger to her lips and he nodded earnestly.

"Out! This audience is dismissed!" The Queen's head whipped around to search out her staff-bearer at the entrance. "Bring me Gwyn ap Nudd. Now." More courtiers slipped away through the exits, the Seelie Queen's children among them. Arynessa was among the last to leave and cast a despairing glance back over her shoulder at her mother. This had been a serious blow, witnessed by many. It could take years to recover from the loss of face.

She chivvied Rayce ahead of her and saw him glance back as well, concern etched on his small face. Arynessa gently shoved him forward, "All will be well, Rayce, you'll see."

Minutes later, Gwyn of the Hunt stepped through the moss curtain woven with glowworms, and approached the throne. Shards of the scrying mirror crunched under his boots. He knelt before the Queen and bowed his head.

"My Lady sent for me, and so have I come with all the speed of the wind. What service may I render you?" He raised his eyes to see her glaring down at him.

"The tribute from the Hunt. I want the tithe for the Seelie Court raised immediately. Twenty percent of your takings, and not a silver less." Her eyes burned with a fervour that gave Gwyn an unsettled feeling in his heart. He shook his head.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but I cannot do this. Ever has the hunt gifted ten percent to the Seelie Court and ten to the Unseelie. Such was the agreement written when the Hunt was formed. I am bound by my vows and cannot change them. Perhaps more can be done in the Shadow Markets of the world."

He waited, head bowed once more. The air tasted strange in this place. He could sense magic from both of the Courts here; it seemed to crackle around the smashed scrying mirror and swirled around him uncomfortably. Whatever he had missed, perhaps it was for the best.

The Queen's voice was quiet when she replied, "I should have guessed, Hunter, where your allegiance would lie. Leave this place; I have no further use for you."

"As you command, my Lady." Gwyn's massive form rose and he turned, stepping over the glass uneasily. He passed out of the throne room and headed for one of the hidden exits reserved for the Hunt. He was already gone when the Queen screamed in rage and the glowworms burst with her fury.


	3. Chapter 2

_**2**_

 _September 2012_

Light flickered and Zeke groaned.

He slapped his hand over his eyes and rolled onto his side, away from the source of the brightness that was intruding on the beginnings of a spectacular hangover. He felt his week-old scruff of a beard rake across the hard, leather pillow his neck was wedged against. _Leather... pillow?_ His mind chased scattered thoughts that fled from him like startled cats. With a slightly more forceful groan, he cracked one grey eye open and peered around the tarnished band of his family ring. _Leather... boots. Well, that explains the smell._

"Ezekiel Hightower, the Queen wishes to speak with you at once." A soft voice shattered through his pounding headache and he shushed the voice at once, waving his other hand in its direction, feebly hoping that it would go away.

He heard light footsteps retreat a bit and silently celebrated his prowess from inside his throbbing prison. He wasn't expecting his celebration to be quite so short-lived.

Cold water splashed down on his face as his wash basin was emptied over his head. He yelled, arms flailing as he twisted in his sheets to grapple with whatever demon was so rudely interrupting a perfectly miserable morning. Blinded by the light and squinting when he opened his eyes to seek out his attacker, his legs tangled in the bedclothes as he lunged at the milk-white creature. He missed by a good three feet when the traitorous ground spun under him, tipping him sideways into his bureau. Good, solid oak brought him up short, but it could also have been the good, solid ground helping. _This is how it ends_ , he thought with strangely mixed feelings about it.

Zeke rolled over to prepare for a deathblow that didn't come. A pair of white demons with green-tinged blond hair stood over him, four pupil-less blue eyes glaring down disapprovingly. With supreme effort, he ordered his eyes to work together, and the two demons merged into one, resolving into one of the Seelie Queen's handmaidens. _Kaelie_. _Great._

He felt that this revelation warranted another groan and he closed his eyes before she could multiply again.

"The Queen requires your presence in her sitting room. She will not be patient." Kaelie crouched down next to him and laid one soft hand across his brow. His raging migraine muted itself at once and he felt a flush of heat race down his body from where she was gently touching his forehead. A measure of strength and coordination returned to his limbs and she seemed to have even quieted the treacherous floor, the spins slowing and then stopping all at once.

He opened his eyes again with renewed clarity, the room around him revealed as the disaster it was. The bed was completely mussed, and now soaked, the sheets strewn all over. Clothes littered the floor alongside empty glasses and bottles, while assorted boots and weapons were thrown around haphazardly with books sprinkled through the detritus. Pushing himself up until he was sitting with his back against the oak chest of drawers, he kicked free of the last bit of blanket and ran his left hand back through black hair that was already shot-through with grey. Kaelie nodded to herself in satisfaction and stood.

"Come." She turned and left his chambers.

Zeke already knew that refusing was a futile, and occasionally embarrassing, option. Arriving for an audience with the Seelie Queen trussed like a pig, complete with a shiny red apple in his mouth, was not something he cared to repeat. His stomach turned over at the thought of eating and he dismissed the thought hurriedly. He stood cautiously. _Your move now, floor._

When the floor declined to renew its assault, Zeke moved to follow the handmaiden. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth in an attempt to clean up a bit. The Queen hated things that weren't beautiful, and Ezekiel Hightower was well on his way to becoming one of the ugliest things in her Court. Two decades ago he had been just as sharp and fit as any Nephilim, but the years and drink had not been kind to him.

The oddly-matched pair passed through the tunnels around the throne room, bypassing the great hall. Zeke breathed a little easier. Formal audiences were so much worse. She probably didn't want the embarrassment of being seen speaking to him. A twinge of regret twisted in his stomach. Or maybe just hunger. His insides roiled again. _Stop thinking about food._

Kaelie paused for a moment outside a large wooden door that was marvellously carved with scenes of angels falling from Heaven and demons rising from Hell. The workmanship was exquisite; someone had painstakingly gilt strands of hair and added the faintest touches of silver to blades where they were raised in delicate hands. Tiny, glittering garnets and rubies made fire come alive in the pits of Hell, and Ezekiel stared, heart aching. Or maybe just heartburn.

Tall Faerie knights stood in full armour on either side of the entrance to the Seelie Queen's Royal apartments. One glanced at Zeke and then swiftly away, dismissing him at once. Anger flared inside him. Definitely anger this time. _You'd never even see the blade that killed you, elf-boy._

The other guard nodded at whatever Kaelie had said quietly to him and pushed open the magnificent door. The handmaiden proceeded through, Zeke trailing behind her, and there was a moment as he passed the guards when he slipped a glance sideways at where the Faerie-made armour was seamed at the armpit. _Right there, elf-boy._ He imagined sinking a cold iron blade into that spot. _You're dead._

The Queen's sitting room was a far more informal setting than anywhere else she entertained guests. Elegant couches and divans were arranged around the room to provide comfortable seating for close conferences. Kaelie settled him on one of the couches and vanished through a door off to the left.

Zeke flung his arms out over the back of the couch and stretched his feet out to put them up on the low table. It had been years since he had seen the inside of the Queen's apartments. No sense not enjoying them while he could.

A rustle at the door where Kaelie had left was all the warning he had before the Seelie Queen swished through the entry, wrapped in a simple ice-blue gown that could never hope to match her eyes. She was followed by two of her children, the purple one and the blue one; he couldn't remember their names right now. She cast a disapproving look at where his feet rested. He held out for two more seconds before slowly taking them off the table.

The blue kid's lip curled up and he feigned horror, "What is _that_ , mother?" Maybe it wasn't feigned. Black hair fell in straight sheets around the Faerie prince's sculpted face, and his solid black eyes fixed on Zeke imperiously. Each of Queen's children stood to one side of a couch.

" _That_ ," the Seelie Queen gestured at Zeke. "Is the tutor I was telling you about, Baelerithon." The prince snorted. How un-courtly.

The Queen perched on the edge of the couch opposite from Zeke and stretched out her left hand behind her for the waiting glass to be pressed into it by her handmaiden. Honey-coloured liquid sparkled and Zeke unconsciously licked his lips.

"Ezekiel Hightower. This is my son, Baelerithon, and my daughter, Arynessa. I have brought you here to offer you employment, of a sort."

"I can't say that I'm terribly interested in employment, my Lady. I have such a busy personal life, you see." The Queen's eyes flashed at his words.

"Perhaps I was being unclear when I said 'offer'. You _will_ train my son in the ways of the Nephilim."

Zeke gave Baelerithon a look of appraisal. "With respect, he'll never make it. Much too old to be starting now."

The Queen sighed, but Zeke could have almost sworn that he caught the hint of a smile touch Arynessa's lips.

"You will serve as an instructor for my son, Rayce. Arynessa tends to his needs, and Baelerithon has been giving him lessons that will help him survive in the Court – but I wish him to be a true Shadowhunter. Teach him how to fight as one of Raziel's children, show him the language of Heaven in your Marks. I expect nothing less than a perfect Nephilim, Ezekiel." The Queen waited for his response.

"Training a half-blood brat?" Zeke sighed heavily. "What's in it for me?" He really hoped the Queen couldn't see him starting to sweat. Or smell him.

She levelled a hard look at him, but said nothing. She turned to each of her children and spoke under her breath. They both nodded and turned to leave. Zeke felt that faint sense of wonder that he always felt when he saw they each had wings. Hers were nearly translucent, while his were black and feathered like raven's wings. _I wonder how he sleeps with those things._ When they had left, Zeke turned his gaze back to the Queen.

Her hand shot across the distance between them and her power hurled the table across the room to smash against the wall. His jaw was locked in an iron grasp that he wouldn't have expected her to have, and she leaned in closer until their faces were inches apart.

"I only pretend to tolerate the insolence displayed by my own people, Shadowhunter," she hissed. "I need not make any such pretence with you." Her fingers tightened, nails digging into the flesh under his salt-and-peppered scruff. "It is my wish that you perform this service for the throne, but let it not be said that I am ungenerous. Are you listening very closely?"

Zeke nodded as much as her hand would allow, blood pumping through his veins wildly at the ferocity displayed by the Queen. He was excited and terrified at the same time. Men had died for less. He was close enough to smell his own sour breath as it washed over her face, but she only released his jaw and shoved him back against the couch.

"The years have not been kind to you, Ezekiel, although it would perhaps be unfair to expect them to be after what you have done to yourself. I look at you and can see the man who crawled into Faerie, bruised and bleeding, but with a heart that blazed with the fury for revenge. Those who wronged you have long-since passed into death, and revenge no longer bears the same sweet taste. But it is within my power to grant you something more... useful, perhaps."

He swallowed thickly and she reached out to take his hand, bidding him to rise with him.

She lifted his right hand until it was raised between them, palm facing her, and she gently laid her left hand against his. An arcing white-orange glow spread from her hand to his, wrapping around them and then sinuously climbing his arm. He was panting now, in fear, but he couldn't pull his hand away.

The light twisted and pulsed like a snake, splitting into more and more threads that wound further down his torso and to his legs, cocooning his body and encasing it in a glowing filigree of Faerie magic. More strands crept up his neck and covered his face, and he closed his eyes against what was happening.

One final pulse flashed from the Queen's hand, hot like an iron from the fire and he yelled, yanking back his arm reflexively. He was surprised to see that he could. The glow had faded and he opened his eyes, chest still heaving.

A smile split the Queen's face, radiance pouring from her face and he found himself as entranced as he had been twenty-odd years ago when he had been that bruised and bleeding man. She took hold of his shoulders and turned him around, propelling him to the far wall where a floor-length mirror stood.

Zeke's mouth sagged open in disbelief as he looked at the reflection.

Where once he had had haggard eyes and a sallow complexion, he now saw smooth, firm skin and bright grey eyes. The grey and flecks of white had been chased from his black hair. His jaw flexed, closing his mouth, and he could see his neck held proud, lacking the jowl that had been steadily forming over the last few years. His torso had become lean and he could feel taut abdominal muscles stretching as he turned to take in more of the transformation. His arms were corded with muscle, as they had once been, and he could feel the power in his legs. Fingers clenched and released, free from the joint-pain that had been creeping in. He felt himself laughing, actually laughing, at the wonder of it. Young again!

He whirled back around to face the Queen, eyes shining.

She still wore a delighted smile, more muted than before. "This is what's 'in it' for you," she said. "My power will give you the youth you need to train my son. All of your former strength and agility are returned to you, and will remain so as long as I am pleased with your efforts. I expect you to use them wisely."

She signalled to her handmaiden, who had not been dismissed with the others, and spoke quiet words with her. Zeke stared down at his hands. His fingers were long and smooth again, no more knobby knuckles. And they didn't hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. Not his back, or his knees or his neck. He could feel a stinging sensation behind his eyes as the relief of a life without pain washed over him. His hands shook, but no longer from the need for drink.

"Ezekiel Hightower. Follow me, please." The handmaiden was waiting expectantly, and the Queen of the Seelie Court had left while he had marvelled at the change in his fortune.

"Lead the way," he said.

Kaelie and Zeke walked through the tunnels, much farther than he would have expected. Wherever the Queen had hidden her half-Shadowhunter son, it was certainly out of the way. After a time, they came to stop at a wooden door set into the end of the tunnel, tendrils growing out of it right into the wall. A darker patch of wood was fixed near the knob.

"Lay your hand on the dark wood, Ezekiel Hightower, and the door will allow you to pass. The Queen wove this gift into you with her spell, and bids you do not use it unwisely. Few have access to these rooms." She paused when he did not reach to obey. "Your belongings will be brought here. This will be your new home."

Zeke stared at the darkened bit near the handle. He thought about the disaster of a room he had left behind, the disaster of a life. He made a choice.

"No. Leave it, burn it, sell it. I don't care. Just send me the weapons."

She nodded in understanding and left him at the door, the globes of light flickering to life and fading back into sleep as she passed. He watched her until she was out of sight, then took a deep breath before pressing his palm to the wood. The tendrils retracted back into the door and the knob gave way under his other hand.

 _Honey, I'm home._

Arynessa looked up from the table where she was sitting with Rayce when she heard the door roots retract. She'd taken a few minutes to make him more presentable to meet his tutor. Even if Ezekiel was an ageing drunkard, she could still teach Rayce that it was important to make a good first impression.

A dark-haired young man stepped through the door and Arynessa's hand flew to the dagger she kept in her right boot. With only a thought, she sheathed it in a whisper of her magic and flung it with deadly accuracy at the intruder.

He caught it. By the handle. Impossible.

"Oy! I'm not coming home to daggers being thrown at me every day, so you'd better get that out of your system right now, princess!" Ezekiel Hightower. What had her mother done?

Rayce stood slowly and placed himself in front of his sister, eyebrows knitting in concentration as he narrowed his gaze at the intruder. She looked down at him helplessly. Her legs were going to be defended until the death by her little brother.

"Is that him?" Zeke moved closer, getting a good look at the defiant boy, with his mop of white hair and slightly pointed ears. Rayce met his eyes evenly and Zeke was taken aback by the clarity, the focus. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. This wasn't an ordinary child.

"Yes," Arynessa crouched down behind her brother and spoke to him while keeping her eyes on Zeke. Rayce didn't take his eyes off him either. "Rayce, this is Ezekiel Hightower. He's going to train you in the Nephilim arts, so you must pay very close attention to what he says and obey him as you would myself or Baelerithon. It would please mother greatly for you to excel in your studies with him, do you understand?"

Rayce continued to study Zeke, taking in his strange round ears and the messy stubble on his face. He took a step forward, and when Zeke did nothing, he walked right up to his new tutor. Arynessa was still crouched where he had left her, and she watched him. Zeke decided to mirror her posture for this strange child, and crouched down as well.

Face-to-face with the boy, he was struck by how beautiful he was. Zeke had never had any regard for children before, but these earnest, curious green eyes charmed him in a moment. Small hands reached up to touch Zeke's ears, and then strayed down to feel the roughness of his beard. Rayce's nose crinkled up as he felt it and he pulled his hands away. Green eyes travelled down and he took Zeke's right hand in his own. He studied his palm for a moment, and then turned it over.

An ugly, angry red scar in the shape of a stylized eye defaced the back of his hand. Rayce turned his face up to meet Zeke's grey eyes.

"What's this?" Honest innocence. It was breaking Zeke's heart to look at this child. Not heartburn this time.

Zeke looked down at his old Voyance rune. A flash of pain-filled memory boiled to the surface of his mind and he slammed the door on it.

"It's where I used to have something called a Voyance rune, Rayce. Until I did something very, very bad and my runes were taken away from me."

 _November 2016_

"Again!" Zeke snapped, the practice sword in his right hand angrily beckoning to Rayce. The boy was sweating freely and breathing heavily, his right hand wrapped around a practice sword hilt, and the other clenching a blunted wooden dagger. Surely no 8-year-old Shadowhunter had ever had to deal with training like this.

"I can't do it. You're too fast." Rayce shook his head. "It's not fair." He started to turn around, but Zeke called out to him.

" _Fac fortia et patere._ Do brave deeds and endure, Rayce. How will you ever defeat me if you don't hold to your courage when it seems you should give up?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Rayce said, turning back to face Zeke.

"No? Just afraid of losing?" Zeke taunted. He caught Arynessa's scowl from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Rayce's face hardened and he tightened his grip on his practice weapons.

 _Come on, Rayce._

The boy sprang forward, sword and dagger slashing down. Zeke parried them easily with his own weapons, turning them and already pushing back, looking to put the boy off balance on his heels.

Leaning back in, Rayce drove the attack back at his tutor, darting his small weapons at Zeke's guard, looking for a way in, sending sally after sally at him from every angle. High, low, across his mid-section, arcing in and thrusting, Rayce was trying everything he had ever been taught.

Zeke slapped each attack away, occasionally flicking out his practice dagger to rap the boy with the flat, maddening him further. Rayce was now struggling to get inside Zeke's reach, to get to close enough that the sword couldn't be brought to bear effectively, trying to force him to grapple. Feet dancing away nimbly, Zeke refused to fall into the trap, baiting the boy into chasing him closer to the wall of the great room in the apartments where they trained every day.

Blow after blow was parried away by the stripped Shadowhunter, and he pushed his student hard, pressing back with an attack to force him off balance.

Rayce twisted awkwardly, one leg kicking out wildly to catch himself after a half-spin that would leave him vulnerable from behind. His head whipped back to see Zeke moving in to take advantage of his weakness and in that moment, Rayce screamed wordlessly, venting all the pent-up frustration of never being able to get behind his tutor. _I need to be behind him._

Rayce felt a crushing pressure squeeze in around his body, so hard he felt his eyes would burst, but it was over before he could even blink, and he was looking at Zeke's back. A few wisps of something black and smoke-like rose from where he should have been standing. Part of his mind wanted to stop and figure out what had just happened, but the larger part, the part that was completely fuelled by adrenaline now, saw the moment for what it was.

The practice sword cracked across Zeke's back and Rayce leaped, bearing his tutor to the ground, where he held the wooden dagger to the Shadowhunter's throat. He was breathing hard.

Zeke didn't move, and Rayce felt a flash of worry twist in his stomach. "Zeke? Are you okay?" Rayce crawled off his tutor's back and sat on the floor next to him, legs folded neatly, eyes searching.

The older man rolled over onto his side and looked at Rayce, his mouth slightly agape, weapons forgotten. "What did you just do?"

Rayce shook his head. "I don't know."

Arynessa was still frozen in the hallway, forgotten by the boy and his master. She had seen it. But what was it? The Seelie Queen had finally been proven right; Rayce was something the world had never seen. She needed to know.

Zeke and Rayce were standing now, and he was asking the boy to try again, this time without the fighting. The boy dropped his practice weapons and fixed his eyes on Zeke, his face furrowed in concentration. Arynessa silently willed him to succeed.

Seconds passed and still they stood there. The boy's face relaxed for just a moment and then he vanished again, reappearing behind Zeke an instant later, the curious black trailers curling as they disappeared.

"I can do it!" Rayce shouted, whooping and throwing himself at Zeke. He turned his head to see Arynessa where she was watching and flashed a dazzling smile at her. She nodded and smiled back, her thoughts already racing far ahead.

Later that night, after Rayce had been put to bed, Arynessa slipped out of her bedroom at the end of the hall and padded on cat's feet toward the great room.

"Going somewhere, princess?" Zeke appeared in his doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"I don't answer to you, Shadowhunter."

"Give your mother a kiss from me, will you?" Zeke slid back into his room and closed the door.

Arynessa considered barging in and teaching him a lesson, but the satisfaction would be fleeting, and she was forbidden from doing anything that would be more entertaining. She left the apartments and locked them behind her, hurrying to find her mother.

After she had recounted the events of that evening to the Seelie Queen, Arynessa unconsciously clasped her hands and held them to her breast as she waited for a response.

"Well done, daughter." Arynessa exhaled silently. "Keep close watch and see to it that Ezekiel trains him to use this new ability strategically. I want it to be flawless, and I will desire a demonstration – soon."

Arynessa nodded and bowed her head for a second. "Yes, mother."

The Seelie Queen watched her daughter slip out of the Royal bed chamber, faintly surprised that she had had the courage to come in while her mother was sleeping. But this had certainly been worth it.

She laid back against the nest of pillows and pulled her sheets up higher. She allowed herself a long, contented sigh as she closed her eyes to return to her dreams.

 _And now things will become more interesting._


	4. Chapter 3

_**3**_

 _Autumn 2020_

"Get a move on, Rayce!" Zeke thumped his fist against the boy's bedroom door and it fell open, revealing an empty room, the bed neatly made. He shook his head.

Zeke continued down the hall toward the great room and looked up when he crossed the threshold. He was unsurprised to find Rayce running across the boughs up there. Arynessa and Baelerithon had worked together for days to coax living limbs into growing across the great room, joining their earth magic and weaving complex spells to thicken and strengthen them to provide Rayce with the kind of aerial gym that a Shadowhunter would normally have access to. Since then, Zeke had been given good reason to wonder if the boy hadn't picked up some monkey blood somewhere in his strange twist of breeding. With a Morgenstern, you could never rule anything out, it seemed.

Rayce held a quarterstaff comfortably in his hands, whipping the ends out at his imaginary foes, twisting and dodging their invisible attacks, his feet light on the branches as he crossed them with ease. Swiftly back-stepping, he swept the inside of his foot back along the narrow branch like a dancer, still ducking and parrying, completely unaware of the grace with which he was moving. Zeke sighed. It was satisfying to watch, but today was an important day in the life of a Shadowhunter, and it was not the time for games. He put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle to break the morning quiet.

Rayce's head snapped around and his face broke into a wide smile. He was starting to grow into his features. His cheekbones were much more defined than they had been even just last year, and that strange white hair fell nearly to his shoulders (in a wild mess, usually). His boy's body had started to put on muscle, though he was still small and light. In another few years, he would really start to look like a man.

He pushed off the limb backwards into an arcing back flip, landing lightly on his feet like a cat just two feet from where Arynessa was bringing out fruit and tree nuts to break their fast. Rayce darted in and kissed his sister's cheek with another easy smile, then leaned the staff against the wall to help himself to some food.

 _Some rabbit food_ , Zeke thought uncharitably. That had to have been the hardest thing to give up when he had moved in here. While he had lived his life of debauchery he had been free to eat whatever he could get his hands on, but Arynessa was a rather strict vegetarian. If he was very quiet at night he could almost remember the taste of bacon. He sighed, and Arynessa looked up accusingly, almost as if she could tell he had been cheating on her menu with his memories.

Pushing thoughts of nutritional fidelity aside, Zeke cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you're ready for today, Rayce? You can wait longer, prepare a bit more, if you wish." He watched for the boy's reaction.

Rayce grinned lazily. "I appreciate your concern for me, Zeke, but I don't think waiting longer will prepare me any better. I feel ready." Confidence shone in his 12-year old eyes, lending a maturity to those green orbs that made Zeke shake his head faintly to remind himself that this was indeed, still a child.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Zeke muttered under his breath.

"He _is_ ready," Arynessa insisted. "What Shadowhunter child was ever prepared so well as Rayce? The Marking ceremony is exactly that – a ceremony. He will be well."

Zeke's eyes shifted out of focus as his memories drifted back to his own first Mark, laid over 40 years ago. The pain had been so minor when compared to the pride he had felt. He scratched absently at what remained of the shattered Voyance rune on the back of his right hand and looked down at the vivid red scarring there. The pain of receiving it had been repaid tenfold - no, a hundredfold, during his Stripping.

" _Ezekiel Hightower, you stand accused of conspiring to commit violence during the signing of the Ninth Accords, of possessing and carrying illegal weapons obtained through nefarious means, and of hate crimes against Downworlders, in direct contravention of the Covenant set forth and protected by the Clave. How do you plead?" The Inquisitor's voice echoed through the Council Hall of the Gard. She stared at the accused who was chained hand and foot where he stood behind a rail to the right side of the room. Loops of chain ran down from his ankles to a ring that had been hammered into the floorboards hurriedly after the disaster in the Accords hall last week._

 _He hesitated and looked to where the Consul reclined in his seat. The Consul had advised pleading guilty to receive a reduced sentence, cautioning him that entering a plea of not guilty would drive Imogen Herondale into a much harder pursuit of justice. She was so new to her power and so filled with bitter hatred for members of the Circle that he had speculated that the best way to handle her was to placate her. She would accept a guilty plea and he would be exiled, as so many others had been, or given a deal for leniency if he could aid in the capture of other Circle members. Very few Shadowhunters ran the risk of execution for their involvement in what was quickly becoming known as the Uprising, particularly because Valentine Morgenstern had consigned himself and his family to a fiery end at Fairchild Manor. A guilty plea was the safer course of action._

 _Ezekiel locked eyes with the Inquistor._

" _Guilty."_

 _Imogen regarded him with a spark of excitement in her eyes, a small but feral smile curving her lips. She spun on her heel to address the members of the Clave observing the trials that day, throwing out her arms theatrically._

" _Brothers and sisters, hear me. This man has freely admitted to breaching the most sacred tenant of the Covenant by threatening violence against those whom he was sworn to protect. He freely admits that he consorted with demons, our natural enemies, to obtain weapons that would pass undetected by our loyal guards of the Accords Hall. That he did so knowingly and deliberately plot to disrupt our peaceable negotiations with our honourable Downworld allies is unforgivable. Ezekiel Hightower has turned his back on us as Shadowhunters. He has forgotten our very mandate from Heaven above." She paused for effect, gauging the reaction of the gathered Clave members._

" _Let us now turn our backs on him, and strip from him that which once bound him to our heavenly ancestry. I hereby pronounce judgement on Ezekiel Hightower. Let him be henceforth Stripped of his Marks and exiled from Alicante from this day unto the end of days. He shall be Nephilim no more."_

 _Fierce applause burst from the gallery and Zeke felt his knees give way as the horror washed over him. He braced his chained hands against the railing in front of him, sagging against it as he struggled to breathe. Stripped. A rare punishment among the Nephilim. The removal of his permanent Marks, and the withdrawal of Heaven's blessing, that they may never be reapplied. His flesh would be as a Mundane's; any Marks applied would cause agony, and if continued, would eventually turn him into one of the Forsaken._

 _Voices were lifted in agreement and the noise of the Council Hall rose around the still-mute Ezekiel. He couldn't even bring himself to raise his head and look to the Consul for mercy. The Inquisitor held the power to mete out punishment in the Clave. He could hear the righteous agreements being throw around by the Shadowhunters in the gallery and despaired. What chance would he have with an appeal? He had already pleaded guilty._

 _He was still on his knees when two Shadowhunters came to unlock the chains looped around his ankles and attached to the ring in the floor. They each took hold of one of his elbows and led him away from the buzzing assembly._

 _They led Zeke back down to the cells under the Gard where he had been languishing since he had been overpowered by a pair of werewolves and disarmed. His blade had been clean; no charges could be tabled for murder. Bitterly he wished that he had been soaked in the blood of Downworlders, that he had earned a punishment severe enough to warrant execution. Not this. He would lose everything._

 _The cell door squeaked open and he was thrust back inside, the bars locked behind him once more. He placed his wrists through a small gap in the bars to allow the guards to unchain him from outside, and then they vanished back down the dark hallway of the cell block._

 _He almost wished that Hodge was still here. At least he had been someone to talk to, someone with whom to curse Jocelyn Morgenstern's name. He had seen her throw open the doors to the Accords hall and then step back to watch her brothers and sisters be taken down by monsters. She had betrayed them all. And Lucian Graymark! To see him alive and leading the Downworld charge! It had been such a stunning turn of events that he had stood frozen when the slaughter was joined, left on the edge of a battle that he could no longer believe was happening._

 _But Hodge Starkweather had cut some sort of deal with the Clave, like the Lightwoods before him, and had been taken away last night. Now it was just Ezekiel, unless they managed to catch any more Circle members and bring them in for trial. He hadn't seen the Pangborn brothers or Samuel Blackwell down here; maybe they had successfully escaped. Their families had connections in the Mundane world. If they could run far enough fast enough, they might be able to go to ground and stay off the Shadowhunter's radar until things cooled down. He wished them well._

 _Zeke moved over to where a narrow board folded down from the stone wall with a thin mattress on it and set it in place. He sat down and drew his knees up, clasping hands on opposite elbows as if he could hold himself together purely through physical effort. A tear rolled down his left cheek and he angrily rubbed his face against his shoulder. Another one fell, then, and another, and Zeke stopped trying to hold them back._

 _Regret finally washed over him and he let himself cry out his frustration, his fear, and his sadness for what had happened and what was still to come. He was only 26 years old, and this is what he had done to himself. It had seemed so clear in the beginning. But it had become this; locked in a cell under the Gard waiting for his sentence to be carried out. Sobs racked him now, and he thought about his parents and his sister. He would never see them again. Exiles were never allowed to return to their families. What had he done to the Hightower name? He had stained a centuries-old family with his treason. Tears fell for the shame that burned in his belly and he desperately wished that he could go back and tell himself to never speak those words._

 _He whispered bitterly into the falling darkness of his cell, "I hereby render unconditional obedience to the Circle and its principles. I will be ready to risk my life at any time for the Circle, in order to preserve the purity of the bloodlines of Idris, and for the mortal world with whose safety we are charged." He snorted deep in his throat and spat, unfolding his legs to stand._

 _Imogen Herondale stood silently on the other side of the cell door, watching him through the bars. She shook her head when their eyes met._

" _Still clinging to your master's ideals, Ezekiel?" She moved forward to wrap her long white fingers around the bars. "I'll see you burn for it, traitor. You, and every last one of your precious Circle members. You'll pay in blood."_

 _Zeke saw the fanatic zealotry burning in her eyes and didn't say anything. She was beyond listening. Anything he said would only make it worse. He knew that she had been destroyed by grief when her son, Stephen, had died in a raid, and then her daughter-in-law had committed suicide while she was still eight months pregnant with the Inquistor's first grandchild. Her husband, Marcus, had died of grief soon after their son's death and now she was alone, her entire family taken from her in such a short time. Indeed, she had been an easy choice to replace her predecessor when the previous Inquisitor had been killed in the Uprising. No one would pursue justice so faithfully as her, it was believed._

 _But somewhere along the way, justice had become vengeance, and now the trials were at last giving her an outlet into which she could pour all of her toxic hatred for the Circle that had taken so much from her._

 _She unclenched her fingers from the bars and turned away from him, her heels rapping on the stone as she returned to the Gard above._

 _Anger seized Zeke, burning away the guilt and fear from before. He reached back and pulled his dirty shirt off, casting it into the corner where his empty water jug sat forgotten. His boots, socks, and torn gear trousers followed until he stood in his small clothes. He stepped into the patch of weak moonlight that filtered through the bars of his small window from the street above._

 _He stretched his arms out in front of him and let his eyes travel from the Voyance rune on the back of his right hand up past the others that he had taken on over the years. White scars showed where hundreds, probably thousands of others had been used in battle. He traced a map across his body in the faint light that showed the journey he had taken to get here. His eyes drank in the curling black lines that made him a child of Raziel, blessed on earth as a warrior of Heaven, and he tried to fix this image of himself in his mind. He'd lost his way, and the path to redemption would soon be closed to him. This is how he wanted to remember himself. Whole. Complete. Unbroken._

 _The chill in the air caressed his skin and it seemed as if he could almost feel it trailing along his Marks, teasing him, because soon those Marks would be burning and he would beg for a cool touch to end his suffering._

 _Zeke stood in the light to stare at his Marks and shivered as the hours passed._

 _He woke when a Nephilim guard clanged the hilt of a dagger on the bars of the cell. Zeke shot up from the thin bed where he had finally collapsed, exhausted, in the early hours of the morning. It was time._

 _The condemned Shadowhunter pulled on his discarded clothes, conscious of the eyes watching him. He docilely slipped his hands through the door to be chained. Last night he had made peace with himself. He would hold on to what honour he had left._

 _They marched deeper into the cell block, somewhere Zeke had never seen, or indeed, even known of. It must have been several stories underground; the air was cold and stale, and the floor had changed to hard-packed earth from the neat stonework above. Witchlight held high to dispel the darkness, the Shadowhunter led them to a thick iron door and pushed the heavy portal open with his shoulder, revealing a circular room with a high ceiling._

 _Fear spiked in the pit of Zeke's stomach._

 _Torches had been lit instead of traditional witchlight, and the smell of burning pitch was a sharp stink in the air, while a fire burned in a hearth at the opposite end of the room. Wildly, Zeke wondered how far the chimney would have to go to vent the smoke outside, and he squashed the thought. Long lengths of chain hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room, and two more Shadowhunters moved quickly to manoeuvre him into position and lock his arms above his head. His ankles were once again tethered to a ring in the floor and he felt sick with fear. This was happening. This was real._

 _All three of the Shadowhunters left and it wasn't long before Imogen entered the room with a tall, cloaked figure behind her. Parchment-coloured robes brushed the dirt floor and Zeke knew what sort of monstrous face was hidden in the cowl; the Silent Brothers seldom varied._

" _Allow me to introduce Brother Antioch, Ezekiel," said the Inquisitor, pushing the heavy door closed. The Silent Brother remained predictably silent, and Zeke felt his fear bubble over into quiet hysteria as he started to laugh at the thought of a silent Silent Brother. He couldn't help himself. His fear needed release, and this was how it was getting out._

 _Imogen's eyes narrowed and she strode forward to slap him, hard, across the face, rocking him sideways in his chains. He tasted blood. That was probably the only thing he'd be tasting for a while. His own, personal vintage, aged perfectly for 26 years. More laughter rolled out of him and the Inquisitor flew into a rage, striking him over and over, curling her hands into fists to pummel his sides, his kidneys, and his face, in particular. Her feet kicked out viciously at his legs, but still, he laughed._

 _He spat a glob of blood on floor and flashed her a reddened smile. "Not bad for a grandma," he taunted. "But I guess you don't count as a grandma if the brat is never born."_

 _Zeke would never forget her face in that moment. All the pain, the rage, and the heartbreak were rolled into one, singular expression that he was sure he would never see again. She launched herself at him, and he could see that she was truly demented now. She would kill him with her bare hands. But it had to be better than Stripping._

 _At that moment, Brother Antioch stepped forward swiftly and pulled Imogen away from Zeke, his strong hands trapping hers. She locked her eyes on the shadowy face that was only partially visible in the firelight, and Zeke knew that the Brother was speaking to her with his mind, projecting his thoughts for her alone._

 _Zeke swore inwardly. Antioch must have caught that last thought and realized the game that was being played. Zeke decided to swear much more loudly in his mind, mentally yelling with all his concentration with the most inventive insults he could imagine, literally. He wondered if Antioch could still carry on a conversation with Imogen if Zeke was hollering in his skull like this. He hoped he gave the bastard a headache._

 _Antioch released Imogen after their silent conference and she backed away to the wall next to where the fire was blazing away in the hearth. She slid down the wall with no regard for her fine clothes, settling in the dirt, knees bent, with her wrists balanced casually across them. Her eyes glittered darkly, reflecting points of fire from the torches around the room, and Zeke started to regret his decision to goad her._

 _The Silent Brother approached Zeke._

Yes _, he thought at Zeke,_ I can carry on a conversation while listening to a fool rave. And no, I do not have a headache. _The Silent Brother's hood tilted to one side as he cocked his head, seeming to assess Zeke in the flickering light._ Shall we begin?

 _The twisted Shadowhunter produced a small knife and cut away Zeke's clothes without another thought. He then pulled a stele made of black_ adamas _from a fold in his robes. He held it poised in his left hand, raised to where it caught the torchlight and seemed to drink it in. The tip pressed against his chest and The Silent Brother began to slowly trace the rune backwards._

 _Zeke threw back his head and screamed. The pain was like boiling acid being surgically drawn across his flesh, as if one type of burning wasn't enough torture and it had to be twin fires of flame and chemical in one. He desperately pulled away from the black stele, twisting away from Antioch, but the chains brought him up short. His chest heaved and he was consumed by terror that was only heightened by knowing he couldn't escape._

 _The stele lowered to his chest again, and Antioch continued reversing the rune, drawing more screams from Zeke, more thrashing, until the tip lifted away and Zeke hung from his wrists, shaking violently and sobbing._

 _The once-black rune was now carved in blood._

" _Slower, Antioch." Imogen called from her place on the floor, eyes fixed on the panting man in front of her. "I want to see him suffer."_

 _Zeke had hung in that room for two days while Imogen and Antioch came and went, sometimes taking hours to remove a single Mark. He'd screamed himself hoarse after only two. He didn't remember much after that. He'd gone away inside himself somewhere where he could survive the Stripping. Somewhere where he could dream of revenge against the Consul, Antioch, and most of all, Imogen. He wasn't going to die down here; his sentence was exile. He would heal. And then he would find a way to destroy them all._

 _When it was done, Antioch had vanished with the black stele and Imogen had gone with him. Two Nephilim guards had come to release him from his chains and he'd collapsed into the dirt that had slowly become mud over the last two days as he had bled over it. They had carried him from the room with a dark sack pulled down over his face, leaving it in place until he was somewhere else in the Gard._

 _When it was tugged off, the gleaming Gard portal shimmered in front of him. A warlock took hold of him and they stepped through together, the Downworlder's thoughts guiding their destination._

 _Again, Zeke hit the ground, but it was snow this time. Sweet, blessed, cold snow. The warlock leaned over him, offering a hand to help him up. Zeke flinched back from the hand that ended in talons._

" _Don't touch me, warlock."_

 _Coolly unconcerned with the refusal, the warlock pointed west._

" _The city of Paris lies that way," He turned and began weaving his hands to cast a spell, probably a portal of his own._

" _Why Paris?" Zeke asked grudgingly._

" _All roads lead to Paris," the warlock quoted._

" _That's Rome, you idiot!" Zeke struggled to stand and failed. "I don't speak French! Put me somewhere useful!"_

 _The warlock shook his head and finished his casting, then stepped into nothingness._

" _I hate the French!" Zeke shouted hoarsely, his voice still raw._

 _He laid in the snow, looking up at the blue sky above, clouds drifting by lazily. He worked gingerly around his raw wounds to restore a bit more circulation, willing his legs to support him again. When he felt stronger, he raised himself shakily and looked west. His feet refused to move. They probably hated the French, too._

" _You look like you've seen better days, Shadowhunter," a voice called from behind him. He could have sworn he had been alone a moment ago. He whirled and ended up back in the snow, but this time with a view of what was obviously a Faerie, long white-blond hair plaited over a dark-skinned shoulder that was bare even in the cold. Zeke could see a wing fluttering on the Faerie's left side, but nothing on the right._

" _I don't think I count as a Shadowhunter anymore, elf-boy." He righted himself again, but decided that standing might not be a great idea just now._

" _Not if you don't think so, no. Though your Marks were Stripped and your blood was spilled, is it not the same blood that pumped through your heart yesterday? Do mortal hands have the power to destroy that which is divine?" The Faerie's mouth quirked for a moment and he moved toward Zeke, crouching in the red snow around him. His eyes were grey, so much like Zeke's own that he was taken aback with surprise._

" _Where will you go now, broken Shadowhunter? Will you begin your Mundane life in the City of Love while it is hate that burns in your heart?"_

 _Zeke stared into those unsettling eyes. "Who are you?"_

" _You may call me Cassius, Nephilim-who-is-not. I can take you to the Courts where you may heal and cling to the fringes of the life you have lost." He swept his arm across the horizon at the city. "There, you will lose your connection to the Shadow world. With me, the Clave will not shake you from their back so easily."_

" _Why would you help me?" Zeke knew Faeries well enough by now to know that nothing was ever free._

 _Cassius reached up with his left hand to touch the back of his right shoulder. "Perhaps I, too, know what it is to be broken. Loneliness can be a terrible thing." He offered Zeke the same hand that had touched where he had been maimed, and the Shadowhunter reached out to take it. Rising to his feet was far easier with Cassius' help, and he could feel new strength rush into him from his benefactor's hand._

 _No more was said as they walked away from the patch of churned up, blood-soaked snow and dipped down into a glen. A perfectly round, frozen pond lay at the bottom, deep blue surface brushed with a dusting of snow. Zeke shivered, his wet, ruined clothes no longer providing any semblance of protection from the cold._

 _They stood close together on the ice in the centre of the pond and Cassius folded his one remaining wing around Zeke, drawing him close and shielding his view. In an instant the cold and the sky had vanished, replaced by a pleasant warmth and an earthy smell._

 _He had come to the Land Under the Hill._

"Ezekiel Hightower, you will answer the Queen at once." Kaelie Whitewillow's voice cut through his painful memories in an instant.

Zeke snapped back to the present and silently thanked his feet for cooperating with his brain's autopilot commands to bring him to the informal reception room of the Seelie Court. Damn good feet, both of them.

The smaller reception room was typically used when the Queen wished to entertain courtiers of middling status, carefully balanced to honour them while not attaching such great importance as a formal audience in the throne room. She was walking a fine tightrope these days, but Zeke had to admit that she was handling it with flare.

He groped for the question but couldn't remember hearing one. His mind raced, lightning-quick and he addressed the Seelie Queen where she was reclined on a divan set upon a small dais.

"I apologize, Fair One, but my eyes were so dazzled by your beauty that my ears were left deaf."

The Queen's lips curled into a smile as she saw through his lie but allowed it. She had always been a sucker for compliments.

"I asked if you had everything you needed to proceed."

Zeke turned to see Rayce standing behind him, excitement stamped on his face. Arynessa had already moved over to stand with Baelerithon. Zeke fumbled through his clothes and came up with a stele, white _adamas_ sparking memories of black. He banished the thought. The past was past. Today was for Rayce.

"Normally this would be done with help from the Silent Brothers, but I don't think anything has ever been normal where Rayce is concerned. Arynessa and Baelerithon have agreed to stand in and assured me there would be no danger to Rayce."

The Seelie Queen nodded and motioned for him to continue.

Zeke was counting on the Fey to have no idea of what to expect for a Marking ceremony, as he wasn't entirely sure what to do himself. It wasn't like he'd been invited over to his friends' places for theirs. This wasn't a bar mitzvah. And he certainly wasn't a Silent Brother. Memories of Antioch burned and he continued mentally jumping up and down on those old memories. He had prepared Rayce as well as he could for this. The boy had been right this morning; waiting longer wouldn't make a difference.

He bade Rayce to kneel before him and he took the boy's right hand. It seemed so small in his own. Unblemished by the scars that this life would give him, it contrasted starkly with Zeke's. Arynessa stepped behind Rayce and placed her hands on his shoulders, kneeling to reach him. Baelerithon took up his position behind Zeke, hands resting gently on his shoulders. It had seemed like a pretty good idea at the time when he had been making this all up, but he felt oddly reassured by the prince's light touch, and he tightened his grip on the stele in his right hand. They were an odd sort of family, but the last eight years had been good. He looked past the ruins of his own Voyance rune to where Rayce's hand waited, laid in trust, awaiting this next step on his journey.

Zeke set the tip of the stele to Rayce's hand and drew the Voyance rune, pouring every bit of love that he'd stocked up for the boy over the years into it. Rayce's breath hissed inward and he started panting as he felt the burning etch across his skin. His hand shook in Zeke's as he finished drawing the open eye, but the rune appeared smoothly, the black contrasting sharply with the boy's fair skin.

He released Rayce's hand and unconsciously bit the inside of his lip, waiting.

Rayce cradled his hand against his chest and Zeke could see that his face was pinched with the pain. The Queen looked on from her dais, and even Kaelie had leaned forward to watch. The boy's breathing slowed as he regained control and forced himself to inhale evenly and exhale slowly, as Zeke had taught him. His face relaxed gradually until he had mastered himself and then his startling green eyes opened again, fixing on Zeke with undisguised pride, so much like Zeke had looked at his father over four years ago.

Arynessa and Baelerithon had drilled Rayce repeatedly for this part of the ceremony, and to his credit, he did not forget their lessons. His sister released his shoulders and Rayce rose, twisting his freshly-Marked hand over his breast and folding his left behind his back, bowing deeply to his mother.

"I do so pledge my honour to the throne, that my victories may be yours, that my glory may belong to you, and that my blade may be wielded by your hand. Eternal honour to the Seelie Court," he carefully recited.

The Queen was enchanted by her son and clapped her hands in delight. She rose from the divan, white silk gown trailing behind her as she descended toward where Rayce was still bowed. She lifted his chin gently and he stood up straight, meeting her eyes with a touch of wonder in his own. He so rarely saw his mother, let alone felt her touch, that he could feel his heart bursting with love inside his chest.

She leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I believe you will make me very proud, my son." Stepping back, she motioned Kaelie over. The handmaiden bore a dark blue velvet box in her hands, and she presented it to Rayce to open.

He seemed nearly dazed from his mother's unexpected display of affection as he pushed the lid open. Nestled within was a pair of pristine white gauntlets, beautifully crafted and sized for his small hands. He looked to his mother and she nodded encouragingly for him to take them.

Rayce lifted them out of the box with reverence and Kaelie stepped away. The Queen's eyes burned with pleasure as he pulled them on and she whispered to him softly.

"Now, you are a prince of the Courts."

 _**Author's note: The physical description and name for the character of Cassius was submitted by Emma Morgenstern and was chosen to appear in this story with her permission._


	5. Chapter 4

_**4**_

 _Summer 2022_

Rayce was bursting with excitement on the inside but was careful not to let it show on his face. Baelerithon had spent many long hours teaching him to master his expressions, to only show the emotion that he wanted others to see. _The Fey are unable to speak untruths,_ Baelerithon had cautioned him, _but you'll find their faces lie with ease._ _You must strive to master this, or be taken in by your enemy's artifices._

Living as they did, hidden away in the far reaches of the Seelie Court, Rayce had not yet had a chance to practice this skill with any supposed enemies, but he hoped that he would be ready when the day came. Baelerithon had made no secret that his Shadowhunter blood made him a target for the Fey who blamed his father for the failed Dark War and the resulting Cold Peace. Others would mark him out for being a son of the Seelie Queen, who was still consolidating her power nearly a decade and a half after the throne had been shaken by the debts incurred to the Nephilim, the loss of many territories in the Mundane world, and the slow economic growth of their Courts as they struggled to recover under the yoke of sanctions that were far too harsh. It was a difficult time to be a prince of the Seelie Court, but Rayce was determined to acquit himself well.

Tonight would provide that opportunity at last. The Nephilim and their Downworlder allies were celebrating the signing of the Eleventh Accords in Alicante today, without the Fey, and instead the Queen was hosting a glorious celebration of their own. Months had been spent making preparations for the revels, and in defiance of the mandate that no Faerie be allowed to bear arms, she had set a tournament of champions to entertain courtiers and low-born Fey alike. And Rayce had been named to the champion's roll! At last, a chance to show everyone what he could do!

He had dressed carefully in his light-weight black leather armour. Zeke said that when he had finished growing, he might be able to find an actual set of Shadowhunter gear, but it was too much trouble to acquire sets that he would soon outgrow. He flexed the last piece of his armour in his hands, hesitating before donning it. A half-mask. It covered the lower half of his face. Arynessa had suggested it, saying that the mystery would add to his appeal, but it got awfully hot in there...

Rayce sighed and slipped it on. He would honour his sister's wishes. He left his bedroom and padded down the hall to the great room. It had changed over the years as he had progressed in his training, the walls covered in more weapons, and the great tree limbs that made up his aerial training course had slowly grown patches of moss and mushrooms. He took a deep breath in as he did every time he crossed into this room. It smelled like home.

Arynessa was already waiting for him with Zeke, and Rayce's breath caught for a moment. His sister was sheathed in a one-shouldered white silk column dress, done in the Grecian style. Delicate white flowers and petals twined up her other shoulder and across her collar bones, brushing gently against her soft lilac skin. Her small waist was circled with more of the same flowers, and the dress spilled to the floor from there. Her purple hair was drawn back into an intricate, yet lazy-looking sweep that still allowed her tresses to float down across the open back of the dress where still more flower petals dotted down from one shoulder until they faded at her lower back. When he stopped to stare at the diamond and amethyst jewels sparkling in her hair and from her ears she fixed him with a teasing look and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Did you forget that I am still a princess of the Seelie Court, brother?" Rayce tried to stammer an apology or a compliment, or even just some sort of intelligible words, and failed miserably. Baelerithon would have been disappointed. So much for all of his control, if his own sister could so easily disarm him.

Zeke pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning. "Well if you could find the royal feather duster when we get back, princess, I think you've missed a few spots in my room." He tossed Rayce the double-bladed staff that had been a gift from the Queen for her son's 13th birthday the year before. He caught it easily and latched it into place on the harness that he wore across his back without a second thought. The weapon had become a part of him the day his mother had bonded it so.

Arynessa shot Zeke a look of disgust, but did not respond. She held her hand out to her brother, and Rayce offered his arm genially. The three of them left the apartments behind. Arynessa glided along at her brother's side, leading the way through the tunnels of the land under the hill. Even Zeke had not come this way often, and certainly not since moving in with the Seelie Queen's children. They were heading toward the ley line terminus.

Following the Cold Peace, it had become increasingly dangerous for the Fey to travel in the world above when they had lost the protection of the Accords. Vampires with a taste for Faerie blood, werewolves with grudges, and even warlocks had started taking advantage of the unarmed Faeries and many had been killed before they could regain the safety of the Courts. Never one to be stopped by the lesser races, the Seelie Queen had conceived the notion for a system of travel that would make use of the world's ley lines. The Fey had always been the most skilled in the workings of the earth's magic, and it had not taken long before a way had been devised to step into them and travel safely along the veins of the earth. A more primitive version of this had been used to move Sebastian Morgenstern's Endarkened forces during the Dark War.

The Unseelie Faeries had always held greater confidence when working with ley line magic, but the Queen had left them out of her plan deliberately. She had envisioned an even greater exploitation of the earth magic once it had been proven to work, and even now, Seelie artisans and sorcerers were working toward carving out a place that existed outside the realms of Men and Fey alike, cradled within a ley line chasm. She dreamed of the revenues the throne could generate by operating a place that would be untouchable by the Nephilim. The Shadow Markets in the Mundane world were a pale reflection of what she hoped to achieve.

Soon, others appeared in the tunnels around Rayce, Arynessa, and Zeke. Sideways glances and whispers followed them. Rayce adopted a look of confident indifference, eyes predatory but calm, posture nearly arrogant, his instructions from Baelerithon clear in his mind. His brother had warned him that tonight was pivotal for his position in the Court, that he would be weighed in the balance and must not be found wanting. He must show strength.

The terminus was crowded with all sorts of Faeries in every hue imaginable. Wings fluttered, hooves stamped, and horns poked up through the crowd to mark their owner's positions. Rayce watched as small groups stepped up to the blue-white blaze at the end of the platform and then vanished inside the light.

When they reached the head of the queue, it was their turn to be enfolded by the blaze of ley line magic, and Rayce felt apprehension twist in his gut as he stepped over the threshold with Arynessa holding tightly to his arm. His vision flared a brilliant white-blue and he snapped his eyes shut. Heat enclosed him and he felt as if his flesh were searing over an open flame, racing over his skin greedily. He fought the urge to scream and he felt his sister's hand grip his forearm, for comfort or in warning, he couldn't tell.

It was over in a few moments and the light vanished, leaving him standing in a blissfully dark cavern. Wisps of smoke drifted up from his face and hair, the only places not covered by his armour. Zeke was smoking much more heavily and coughed violently a few times, beating at his clothes as if he really had been set on fire. He pushed his hands back through his dark hair and shook his head.

"I really do hate that. A man is not meant to be cooked well-done. I'm much more of a rare kind of guy." Arynessa's eyes shot daggers at him for even alluding to steak. Zeke backpedaled. "Rare... zucchini."

Rayce was secretly pleased that the leather half-mask was concealing his smile from his sister; he was pretty sure that his training hadn't advanced far enough along to keep a straight face for this. The Fey were not known for their sense of humour, and he was happy that he had Zeke so that he could learn about human teasing.

"A forbidding was woven through these channels against those of Nephilim blood, Ezekiel. Consider yourself fortunate that I travel with you, or you may have found yourself as a bit more of a... char-broiled... zucchini." A small, slow smile spread across Arynessa's beautiful face.

The threesome moved quickly to clear the arrival area and left the shallow cavern. An ancient forest stretched away in every direction under the night sky, black trunks rising up toward the moonlight. Rayce inhaled deeply, his first breath of open air. He wondered at the vastness of the sky above him and felt his heart fall in love with the moon and the stars instantly. Baelerithon had warned him that it might be frightening the first time, all that open space, but this was wonderful. He felt alive.

Arynessa was still guiding him gently with her hand on his arm, Zeke trailing. They were heading toward an area that had been lit by Faerie light, floating unsupported in the darkness. When they broke through the trees, a great clearing was revealed, brightly lit and already filling with Fey from all over the world. Laughter rang out, chiming like bells in the wind, and Rayce could hear faint music from farther back in the trees. At the far end of the clearing, a twisted throne of ancient oak rose from the ground, waiting for the Seelie Queen. They passed behind it in silence and Rayce sighed inwardly. It was so grand.

Arches of creatively-grown boughs enclosed an area at the edge of the trees, ivy and moss growing over to screen the inside from view. Arynessa stepped through a curtain of dangling ivy and motioned for Rayce and Zeke to follow her.

"This is where you must wait for the tournament to begin, brother. Follow the other knights when they enter the clearing and wait for any challenges. Hold to your honour, Rayce. You've trained hard for this, and I am certain that there are very few warriors who could match you even now. Gwyn of the Hunt, perhaps, and one or two others I know, but they will not come tonight." Arynessa gestured to a stump that had been smoothed and contoured, offering Rayce somewhere to sit. "Wait here, both of you." She brushed her lips across Rayce's brow and slipped back out into the night, white silk whispering across the ground.

"You'll notice that _I_ didn't get a kiss, right?" Zeke snorted. "You can wait in here, Rayce, but there's no way that I'm missing out on Faerie revels. Nothing else like them in the world. I just need to find a pretty something to give me a token so I don't end up gnawing on my own toenails in an hour." He clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and pushed through the ivy as well.

Rayce was alone in the make-shift pavilion. Zeke and Baelerithon had taught him patience, but it was sorely tempted now. He could hear the noise outside rising as more and more of the Fey filtered into the clearing and his curiosity soared. His heart warred with his mind silently and he had almost resolved to just go outside for a little bit of a wander when the ivy was brushed aside and a tall Faerie knight entered.

White chain-link mail nearly shone with an inner light, and the knight reached up to remove a great helm adorned with the antlers of a stag. A shock of thick, dark hair fell free and tilted black eyes fixed on Rayce with interest.

"The little Shadowhunter prince, at last. I had heard that you would be brought out for show and put through your paces tonight, but I had hardly dared to hope." The knight's voice was low and rippled over Rayce like soft velvet.

Baelerithon had cautioned him to employ stoic silence if he could not be sure to gain advantage with a response. _It is far more difficult for your enemies to gain a hold on you if you provide nothing with which they might grapple_.

He was spared from answering as other knights began to arrive and gave greetings to one another. Rayce watched their interactions intently, catching some names spoken in low voices. His eyes followed the knights as they spoke quietly with heads drawn close or with open postures and loud voices. He absorbed as much detail as possible and filed it away for examination later. Nearly all of them shot sideways glances at the silent prince who had moved to one side of the enclosure to avoid leaving his back exposed. He returned every glace with a hard stare of his own, his green eyes filled with confidence and a hint of challenge. Inside, his heart raced, but outwardly he appeared calm. He silently thanked his sister for the half-mask that concealed the flush in his cheeks.

The Seelie Queen's voice lifted outside the pavilion to address the gathered Fey. Inside, the knights formed a double column, and Rayce slipped into line at the back. Cheers and wild stamping rang through the crowd, though Rayce could see a few of the knights shaking their heads and murmuring to each other ahead of him. His mother's hands clapped together and the knights marched forward smartly, entering the clearing through a gap in the onlookers.

When they stood before the gnarled oak throne they knelt as one to the Queen. Rayce stared up at his mother, drinking in the radiance that shone from her, until a ripple passed in front of the throne. His green eyes flicked toward the movement and he could see the faint image of a young girl, probably a only few years younger than himself. She appeared ghostly, but even so, her hair glittered a gold-blond that was shot through with platinum, silver, and bronze threads. Her gold eyes were locked on Rayce's in what looked like shock and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. _She can see me?_

The apparition vanished in the next second like it had never been there and Rayce exhaled slowly, unaware that he had even been holding his breath. He'd felt such a connection with the strange vision, and it unsettled him.

Time passed in a blur as the first of the knights, the one in the white chain-link mail who had taunted him, took his place in the arena to await the first challenger. Rayce and the others formed a double line in front of the throne and knelt once more as an honour guard while the matches were fought. His place on the end gave him an unobstructed view of the combatants, and he watched the matches eagerly.

He had only ever fought against Zeke in the last ten years. Although Baelerithon had been trained, he declined to cross blades with his little brother, and Arynessa had laughed away his challenges, telling him that she knew how to choose her battles. He had always been given the impression that Zeke was not as strong a fighter as the Fey, that his human blood would handicap him. But Rayce could see now that he had been wrong. Zeke could easily defeat these Faerie knights... and Rayce could easily defeat Zeke.

Rayce felt his excitement mounting as the line of Faerie nights to his left dwindled one by one as they fought against challengers from all over the world. There were a great number of Faeries who had not retreated to the Courts after the Cold Peace had been handed down, secluding themselves further within the human world instead. This place, deep within the Black Forest of Germany, had been a Faerie stronghold for centuries, inspiring many Mundane 'fairy-tales'.

At last, Rayce was the final champion remaining and he moved forward to take his place on the churned-up floor of the arena. He wondered who would challenge him.

"Can the Seelie throne count on your support when the time comes, Cassius?" Arynessa asked of the one-winged Faerie. Dealing with him always filled her with mixed emotions, though she had known him for over a century. A thin screen of trees hid the arena from view where they conferred just inside the tree line.

"Do you know what price your mother has set to challenge your young brother tonight, beautiful Arynessa?" His grey eyes searched her own.

"Yes." She would give him no more of an answer than that if he was going to answer her questions with more questions.

"How long will you allow him to believe that he fights for the honour of the throne, and not simply to refill the royal coffers from the purses of those who would pay any price to so freely attack one of the children of Raziel? Or indeed, to clash with a prince of the Courts?" His left hand stroked the long white-blond plait that ran down his chest.

"My brother will know when he needs to. Let his young mind dream a while longer." She touched Cassius' shoulder with carefully measured hesitation and delicacy. "It is you who concerns me now."

A scream of pain pierced the night from the arena and Arynessa's head whipped toward it, her hand flying to her throat in fear. It hadn't sounded like Rayce, but...

Cassius laughed quietly beside her, a low chuckle that made her ears burn with shame. "You care about him, princess. Now I know." He folded his dark leathery wing around himself and vanished before Arynessa could say another word.

She pushed through the spectators and saw Gwyn of the Hunt forcibly lifting away her brother's opponent as the maddened Hunter screamed at Rayce, "You are not a Shadowhunter!" Her brother looked confused, and she could read the hurt on his face from here. A mistake, to show that to so many. His mask had been ripped away, along with some of his armour. She sighed; she had tried to protect him with it. The reactions to this little incident would ripple out for years. She would have a lot of work to do.

The next morning, Rayce was awake early and even the allure of his aerial gym couldn't pull him away from the memories of the previous night. He lay on his back in the centre of the room, staring up into the branches that held no starlight behind them now. The Hunter's face had been so distraught. And he had looked at Rayce with such loathing. Was this what his people thought of him? And that ghostly girl...

Arynessa appeared from the hallway that led to their bedrooms. She was wrapped in a soft dressing gown of pale blue, and she padded toward where he lay and sat down, crossing her legs in front of her. She pulled her brother's head into her lap and stroked his soft white hair gently. He closed his eyes.

"Are you thinking about last night?" She asked him.

"I can hardly think of anything else right now, sister. What did I do to that Hunter?" Her fingers in his hair felt good.

"Oh, Rayce, it wasn't your fault. It would take longer than I would like to explain it properly, but you must trust me when I tell you that the Hunter's hatred was directed at another, and you were a convenient outlet for it. Do you understand?"

Rayce said nothing.

The roots at the door flexed and Rayce sat up in a flash, startling Arynessa. Zeke slouched through and sagged back against the door as it closed and sealed itself once more. He looked surprised to see them.

His clothes were in disarray and his hair was a wild tangle, threaded through with an impromptu coronet of leaves, grass, and twigs. He cleared his throat.

"Am I up late, or are you two up early at this point? I've lost track."

Arynessa rose in a fluid motion and shook her head, heading back to her room, and they heard her door close.

Zeke looked at Rayce and gave him an exaggerated shrug. "What's on your mind, kid? You've got the same look on your face that Bael gets when it's my night to cook."

Rayce laughed easily, tension fading from his shoulders at the familiarity of Zeke.

"It's just last night. The Hunter."

Zeke nodded. "Good. I wanted to talk to you about that anyway." He gestured to the wall where Rayce's staff lay in its cradle. "Pick that up."

Confused but trusting, Rayce rose and took up his staff while Zeke finished fishing around in the inside pocket of his formal tunic for something. Then the older Shadowhunter helped himself to a practice sword, unusual since they had been training with live blades since Rayce had turned 12 and been able to bear Marks that would heal what little damage Zeke could manage to inflict on him. Zeke had been very clear that blood was the best motivator to become faster, but feather-light blade guards for Rayce's staff had been a part of the gift last year. He clipped them in place and turned to face Zeke.

A collar snapped around Rayce's neck before he could blink and Zeke pushed out at him, hard, causing him to skid across the great room floor. Rayce was still reeling in shock as turned the skid into a roll that brought him swiftly up to his feet, facing his tutor. Zeke had already rushed at him, practice sword arcing in from the right.

Rayce reached into that part of him that _shifted_ when he willed it and visualized himself above Zeke, ready to drop down on his shoulders and bear him to the ground.

Nothing happened.

Zeke's practice sword cracked against Rayce's side with enough force that he felt a few ribs break. He collapsed sideways, gasping, tracking Zeke's movements to see where the next blow would come from, but the Shadowhunter had already dropped his weapon and was kneeling at Rayce's side.

"I'm hoping that you're listening right now, Rayce." The boy nodded weakly, fire burning through his ribs. "You can't rely on your shadow-stepping to get yourself out of trouble every time. Someone else is going to figure out the same thing I did, and when that day comes, you're going to need to remember how to fight like the rest of us." Rayce had been tested with cold iron before and found that it had little effect on him with his mixed blood, but that had been before he had learned about his gift.

Zeke rose to grab his stele from a table strewn with smaller weapons. He sketched an _iratze_ across the injury and then tugged the boy's nightshirt back into place. Rayce's breathing slowly eased as the healing rune must have faded and he nodded at Zeke.

His hands reached up to feel the collar that Zeke had snapped around his neck, and the older Shadowhunter leaned over to undo the clasp and hand the whole thing to Rayce.

It was an ugly piece of twisted, cold iron, the catch designed to lock in place and vanish into the spiralling surface, making it harder to unlock if one could not see it.

"Don't let your sister see that," Zeke said, jabbing a finger at Rayce's chest. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to smuggle cold iron into the Seelie Court? If I have to put out that much effort again, it's going to be for bacon-wrapped steak, boy. We'll train with that when your brother and sister aren't around."

 _October 2026_

"When were you going to tell me?!" Rayce hurled at Zeke, grabbing two handfuls of his tutor's shirt and slamming him up against the smooth, wooden wall of the kitchen.

Rayce had finally grown into his body and now stood taller than Zeke, just over six feet in height. Years of hard training had left his arms muscled without being bulky, his athletic frame built for speed and agility. Today it felt like it was built for murdering.

"Tell you what, boy? And you'd best remove your hands before I remove them for you."

The prince regained some control and unclenched his fists, but did not step back. "That you turned me into a prize-fighter and let me think it was honour. That you've been lying to me for years. That my brother, my sister, and my mother have been playing me for a fool."

Inwardly, Zeke felt his heart twist. He himself had found out after that first night. He had taken Arynessa outside of the apartments and confronted her about it, and she had told him it was for the best if Rayce didn't know yet. _Just a few more years_ , she had pleaded. And, to his shame, Zeke had agreed.

Zeke didn't answer. Couldn't.

Rayce nodded slowly and turned away, stalking toward his bedroom. When he had reached his 18th birthday last week, his mother had gifted him with the ability to finally open the apartment door and granted him freedom within the Court, though warned him against ever trying to leave.

He had hardly been home since, spending every free moment he could exploring the wonders of the Seelie Kingdom with no desire to leave the land under the hill. But he had also, at last, been free to speak to others who weren't Zeke, his sister, or Bael. And he had learned how the Court saw him. A trained pet, a tame Nephilim to kneel before the throne and draw enormous sums as his skill in combat had grown and the contest to defeat him had intensified.

All the fights over the years since the first time had suddenly made sense to him. Sometimes his opponents would request a certain set of weapons, or no weapons at all, and sometimes a time limit had been enforced, or a specific number of matches. He had been only too pleased to show off his many proficiencies, never knowing that those opponents had paid extra.

He pulled his cloak from the back of his door and tossed some clothing onto it, then bundled it closed with a belt. He threw the door open again and yanked his double-bladed staff from where it hung on the wall. The harness he wore for it was already in place, a constant part of his attire, and he crossed the great room to the front door.

"For what it's worth, we did it because we loved you," Zeke called to him. "You can't leave, Rayce. Your mother won't allow it." He was leaning against the wall by the opposite hallway, arms folded across his chest.

"She'll be too late to stop me," Rayce snapped, and then he was gone.

The Faerie lights in the tunnels came to life and faded again as he flew past them, his cloak roll tucked under one arm and his staff across his back. He had a pretty good idea of where he was going; he just had to get there before anyone could find him. In a way, it was convenient that the apartments were so far from the heart of the Court.

He quickly found himself in one of the long tunnels that led out to the Mundane world, reserved for the use of the Hunt. He smell the change in the air as he raced along its length toward the exit.

Rayce was jerked off his feet as an invisible force tangled his ankles and he fell face-first into the hard-packed earth. He twisted around to see what had snared him, his staff wedged uncomfortably under him. There was nothing there.

He rolled back to his knees and tried to stand, but a shooting, fiery pain raced up his legs, cramping his muscles. He gasped out loud and tried to crawl toward the exit that stood only a stone's throw away. The burning ripped upward again and Rayce curled inward on his side, the pain so blinding that he couldn't move. He forced himself to breathe in and out, focusing on this one task as his mind raced. _A trap?_

With effort, he tried to coordinate his writhing to take him back closer to the Court to see if the screaming in his muscles would alleviate. It was so intense that it was impossible to tell if it was working.

Rayce had no idea how long he had laid there, cramping and burning, but stubbornly silent, before he felt a hand seize one of his wrists and start dragging him. Whoever it was didn't seem to care one way or another about being gentle.

When he could unclench his eyes, he looked up to see a vaguely familiar face staring down at him. Long, pale green hair swished back and forth as she continued to drag him, her gold eyes filled with amusement. Kylea. Another of his sisters, though one he saw only infrequently. She served as an enforcer within the Courts, her peculiar gift for tracking blended with a streak of viciousness that begged for release.

She dropped his arm when she had judged they had come back far enough.

"I should thank you, little brother. Now I will collect on the bet that was laid against how long it would take you to run once you found out. Mother wants to see you."

Rayce's eyes flicked down the tunnel toward the Court. He could _shift_ away from her and keep _shifting_ until he could lose himself somewhere else.

"Oh, yes, brother. Please try to run. I _so_ love to hunt. And I've always wondered how I would fare against you; I just never had the money to find out." Her laugh was cruel as she reached down again and hauled him up.

The Seelie Queen dismissed everyone except her handmaidens from her informal sitting room, rising from her divan that sat upon the dais and served as her seat of power here. Kylea vanished with a smirk at her brother, who stood covered in dirt, dark earth ground into his white hair from that first fall in the tunnel.

"I did warn you against leaving, my son," she said.

Rayce glowered up at her. "I won't fight anymore. You won't make another penny off me, mother."

The Queen descended slowly, the green of her gown so dark it was nearly black. Her hair was unbound and it fell wildly from beneath her crown, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Quiet menace dripped from her smile as her lips curved upward.

"Well that's me done, then, isn't it? Very clever, Rayce." She stood now before him, eyes sparkling. "Unless I've already thought of that uncreative response."

His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. His hands flexed at his sides. If his mother took note of the fury that was welling up in her son, she gave no sign.

"You'll continue to fight, and you will fight well. Losing will go very poorly for your beloved Zeke."

Rayce felt a hollow pit open in his stomach. _Zeke_.

"You see, son, he is _also_ bound to this Court by the mistakes he made when he first came, although regrettably, not to me. He has nowhere to run. You have no idea what price I could fetch for an hour to torture him, and I would see to it that the hours were endless." She paused to make sure he was absorbing her words.

A tear betrayed him, sliding down his cheek. The Queen reached up with one delicate hand and touched it, then put her finger to her lips.

"Our arrangement will continue as before, my son." She turned around, dismissal clear, and he had no choice but to leave, wrenching open the heavily-carved door and rushing past the guards before they could see his face.

He couldn't tell Zeke. The older Shadowhunter might try to do something drastic to himself or others to free Rayce from the Court, and it couldn't be risked.

He crossed through a cavern where a spring bubbled up and fresh water rushed away along carved channels in the floor. He cleaned away as much of the dirt as possible and rinsed it from his hair. A shirt from his bundle served well enough to dry him off and he stuffed it back into the lump after wiping down his weapon.

 _Trapped_ ,he thought. He gathered up all of the despair and sadness that threatened to overwhelm him and crushed it down into a tiny ball inside him. Bael had been unknowingly training him for this moment his entire life. Rayce carefully locked away all the hurt and every part of him that was screaming at him to stop. He had a part to play, now, and the consequences of failure would be Zeke's to pay. He wouldn't allow it.

When he stood again, he was calm. Cooler, more distant. Part of the boy that he had been had died today, but Rayce would remember why.

It wasn't long before he was pressing his hand against the dark wood next the to apartment door. He took a deep breath and pushed his way in.

"Rayce!" Arynessa flew across the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. His right hand came up to gently rest on her back and he buried his face in her hair, eyes turning to find Zeke.

His tutor was watching him with hard eyes. "Changed your mind, boy?"

Arynessa released him and stepped back. Before he had locked away that other part of himself, his heart might have ached to look down into her violet eyes and lie, but no more. He got the feeling that this would be the first in a long line of lies he would tell, his half-Faerie nature allowing him to circumvent the truth.

He smiled easily, dimples creasing the corners of his mouth and his eyes lit up, already allowing his face to lie as Bael had taught him.

"Everything's fine."

 _**Author's note: The physical description and name for the character of Kylea was submitted by Stiles Salvatore and was chosen to appear in this story with her permission._


	6. Chapter 5

_**5**_

 _July 2033_

Rayce woke with a start. He had been having such a vivid dream. He laid tangled in his sheets and closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory of it. There had been a girl with shining hair woven from strands of precious metals, a blazing seraph blade held in one hand and... the dream was draining away like water through his fingers. He rolled over on his stomach and buried his head under his pillow, pulling desperately at the unravelling threads of what he had seen. Something important. A warning?

Sighing with exasperation, he pushed his hands under his bare chest and flexed, raising himself up and the sheet slid down the supple muscles of his back. He knelt in the centre of his bed for one more moment, taking one last stab at even a flash of what he had seen. Nothing. She had felt so familiar.

Rayce slipped out of his bed and pulled on a dark robe, belting it absentmindedly. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts as he moved silently down the hallway to the great room that he almost didn't hear the voices. Pulling up just shy of the doorway, he peered around the corner.

Zeke stood at the door of the apartment speaking softly to someone hidden in the tunnel beyond. He was shaking his head and it sounded like he might have been arguing with whoever was out there. After a few more moments, Zeke sighed, nodded, and closed the door gently. The familiar roots reached back into the door to lock it once more.

Rayce ducked back behind the edge of the hallway, but not before he had seen Zeke holding what looked like a letter. He stood with his back pressed against the wall and considered his options. It was highly unusual to have any visitor out here on the edge of the Seelie Court, but to have one come in secret in the dead of night was stranger still. What was in the letter? On the other hand, it wasn't his business. If they had wanted to speak to Rayce, Zeke would have woken him.

He struggled internally for another moment and then saw Zeke's shadow cross the light and cast itself down the hallway at Rayce's feet. He jerked forward and tried to look like he had just left his room, rubbing his eyes for extra effect.

He yawned theatrically for Zeke's benefit as he rounded the corner. "You're up late."

Zeke searched Rayce's eyes but could find no hint of deception there. He relaxed infinitesimally and nodded. "Old men don't sleep like you do, kid." He passed by Rayce and went into his own bedroom, closing the door gently behind him.

Rayce considered going back to his room or knocking on Zeke's door, but he doubted he could sleep now and he had already decided not to pry. He continued with his original plan and headed to the kitchen area to brew a pot of tea.

As the water boiled, Rayce unconsciously ran his hands back through his thick white locks. They were well past his ears; he really should get Arynessa to give him a trim the next time she came by. She had been home less and less frequently over the last year, but he figured that since he was certainly a grown man now, she felt less of an obligation to look after him.

The kettle started whistling quietly and he took it off the heat before it could build up to a shriek. He poured the water into a well-worn pot and tossed some leaves in an infuser to steep. He settled himself into one of the chairs around the table to wait and he let his eyes travel around the room, taking in everyday things that he normally wouldn't have noticed, but that seemed to jump out at him in the middle of the night.

The edges of the table had been worn smooth by nearly 25 years of elbows and forearms. The teapot had probably served thousands of cups of tea to himself, his siblings and Zeke. How many hours had they spent sitting here laughing, talking, and arguing? He was feeling strangely nostalgic and wistful. It felt like there was a change coming, but he put it down to the unease he was feeling from his dream. If only he could _remember_!

He couldn't sit here.

Rayce pushed back from the table and returned to the great room. He took up his staff from the wall, closing his strong hands around the haft and sighing. He always felt more complete with it. It was entirely unique in its craftsmanship, if not in its design. The staff was made from rare steelwood, a tree that was grown over deposits of iron, nickle, manganese, and vanadium, and fertilized with dustings of coal. Strong Faerie magic was woven into the steelwood tree as it grew, forcing the tree to draw traces of the metals up through its roots over the years until the entire tree was infused with the strength of the minerals and the magic tempered it into living steel.

There were very few Seelie artisans who had the skill to work with steelwood, but his mother had found the best of them and commissioned the staff for his 13th birthday. A limb had been cut from the steelwood tree and then shaped to accept the custom blades. A Seelie smith had eagerly accepted the job, fusing identical blades of adamas and electrum together seamlessly for each end. The Iron Sisters may have thought they were alone in working the holy material, but Faeries held the blood of Heaven in their veins as well, and could shape adamas without the seraphic runes the Sisters used. The blades held no runic magic, but it was heavily buttressed by Fey power.

Pure silver scroll-work done in the finest hand was laid into each side of both blades so that he could strike with the combined power of adamas, electrum and silver. Magic had been used to seal the blades against damage and wearing. It would never need to be sharpened. When his mother had been presented with the finished weapon she had held it lightly in her slim hands, eyes wondering. In all of her centuries on the Seelie throne, she had never seen its like.

She had kept the weapon for three days, siphoning earth magic into the haft to prepare it for the final step. Rayce had been called to her apartments to receive his gift, and she had bidden him to take hold of it so that she could wrap her hands around his.

The air had seemed to warp as she drew down power and created a bond between him and the staff.

 _It is made from living steel, my son. You will find that it will obey its master,_ she had said to him. She had staggered backward a step when she released his hands, temporarily drained from the effort of the bonding.

Rayce looked down at it now, the ends uncapped by the guards that saved Zeke from rather a lot of unnecessary shaving. The steelwood was warm in his hands and he reached for the bond with his mind. The staff obeyed his command and split smoothly into two halves, the wood rippling under his grip to form pseudo-hilts. He breathed easily and crouched down a bit to leap up into the boughs overhead. They had aged with him and were familiar friends by now.

The twin halves of his staff looped around him as he spun and twisted above the floor of the great room, reversing his grip and then righting it again, feet gliding over the limbs of the trees as he fought a half dozen foes in his imagination. Dodging and dipping to avoid their strikes, he leaped from branch to branch before dropping back to the floor and fusing the two halves of his weapon back into one smooth length again. The staff whirled and sliced in a deadly dance.

In the blurs of his spinning blades, Rayce again saw the girl from his dream. He pushed harder against his phantasmal attackers, forcing his conscious mind to focus on the invisible fight to leave his subconscious free to reach for her again. He was sweating freely now, and he could almost hear her voice calling out to him... _Rayce._

"Rayce! Slow down, boy!" Zeke's voice cut through the illusion and his concentration was shattered. Rayce stepped back almost drunkenly and turned to look at him. It had been so intense.

Zeke crossed to the kitchen and poured two cups of the now thoroughly-steeped tea. He dunked a dish towel in the wash basin and squeezed it out before tossing it to Rayce as he came through the doorway.

The prince ran the cloth down his chest and across the back of his neck, savouring the cool touch. When he was refreshed, he sat down across from Zeke and picked up his cup.

"Is everything all right?" Rayce asked.

"I could ask you the same thing, right now. What are you doing whirling around like a mad man in the middle of the night?" Zeke took a sip and grimaced at the flavour. He rose from the table and opened one of the cupboards as Rayce answered.

"I had this dream... there was a girl..." He trailed off, still thinking about those gold eyes. _Gold eyes? I remembered!_

"Say no more, my boy. I've had plenty of those dreams, myself. But I don't make a habit of leaping around in trees and making tea sludge afterwards." He lifted a false bottom out of the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of brandy, adding a splash to his tea before returning it to its hiding place. Arynessa would pour it out if she found it.

Rayce shook his head but gave up trying to explain. Zeke took an experimental swig from his improved tea and made a face, but nodded. "Brandy sludge, now, I'd say."

The two sat quietly across from each other, both lost in thoughts they couldn't share with the other. Rayce stared into his tea while Zeke turned sad, grey eyes on his student. So much to say and no way to say it.

They finished their tea without speaking another word until Zeke rose and clapped a hand to Rayce's shoulder. "If it's meant to be, boy, you'll see her again."

Rayce nodded mutely and Zeke padded away, returning to his bedroom to read and reread the troubling letter he had received and pray that it was false.

Later on that evening when he rose from his bed once more after an afternoon of troubling dreams, Rayce found Baelerithon working in the small study where he had taught lessons for the last two decades.

"Bael! I haven't seen you in weeks!" Rayce smiled as his brother rose to embrace him.

"I regret it, brother. I have been away and sorely missed your company; I would have had a much easier time if I had been able to have you at my side." He settled back into the desk chair and Rayce took the seat opposite from him by force of habit.

"Trouble?" Rayce questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Baelerithon shook his head. "Nothing I can't handle. The Unseelie Court stirs and whispers reach us even here. I journeyed there to protect the Seelie throne and strengthen diplomatic ties. I believe I fared well."

Rayce nodded in understanding. His brother had been formally named as Crown Prince of the Seelie throne a few years ago as a precaution, though Rayce could hardly believe that the Seelie line of succession had not been solidified centuries earlier. That their mother even had cause for concern was worrying in and of itself.

Baelerithon seemed to catch Rayce's sombre mood. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, little brother. Let your heart rest and be at ease." He reached across to muss Rayce's hair as he had done years ago.

Rayce laughed and shook his head, finger-brushing back through his hair to restore it to its casually-tousled state.

"If you say so, Bael."

"I do." Baelerithon rose once more from the desk chair and shuffled pages of his elegant script into a satchel that lay on the floor. "I think it's past time that I went to see mother. Perhaps you and I might share supper tonight?"

"Of course," Rayce answered, following his brother out to the great room and holding the door as he left the apartments, black-feathered wings vanishing into the fading Faerie light down the tunnel.

Zeke shuffled out of his room in his tatty white robe that gave Arynessa fits after Baelerithon had left, and he helped himself to a banana, chewing slowly as he walked down one wall of weapons, looking over each one. He buckled on a pair of twin swords over his robe and pocketed a handful of throwing knives. He seemed to be in a very odd mood. Rayce felt distinctly creeped out.

With no warning, Zeke dropped the banana and fell to the floor, clutching at his chest.

"Zeke!" The younger Shadowhunter flew to his side and knelt down, his left hand on Zeke's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

His tutor shuddered and forced himself to rise, breathing hard.

"No time, Rayce." He darted back to his room and picked up an unfamiliar pack, thrusting it at Rayce hurriedly when he returned. He scooped up the beautiful, bladed staff and threw it to Rayce, hurrying to the door and unlocking it. "Come on!"

"Zeke, wait! What are you doing?"

"Just trust me," he begged, holding the door open. Rayce didn't ask again.

The two of them hurried through the tunnels, Zeke's robe flapping behind him as he practically ran ahead of Rayce in carpet slippers. Arynessa would be horrified to see him in public like this, but they didn't pass anyone in these nearly deserted corridors.

They took a familiar turn and Rayce slowed, recognizing the Hunter's tunnel that led out into the Mundane world. Zeke heard him fall back and turned.

"Come on, boy. All of that is in the past now. You can't afford to tarry." He took a hold of Rayce's arm and steered him forward. They drew closer and closer to the exit and Rayce tensed involuntarily, waiting for the searing fire to race up his legs and twist his muscles into knots once more. But he continued forward unharmed.

When they were standing at the exit hatch, Zeke turned around to face his student in the dimness of the tunnel, the closest Faerie light several feet away and only glowing faintly with them standing at a distance.

"Listen to me," he said quickly, his breathing harsh and seemingly laboured. _How can he be winded already,_ Rayce thought. "Something's happened. I don't know all the details, but I know that you have to leave before anyone comes looking for you. Your mother's hold over you is broken now, and your life depends on you taking this path to the Mundane world."

"Zeke, I don't understand. What's happened?" Rayce readjusted the strap of the pack on his shoulder, hitching it up. Come to think of it, how had Zeke known to have a pack ready?

Zeke sighed and took hold of the latch to shove it open. Bright orange light intruded into the tunnel and artificially illuminated his face properly for the first time since fleeing from the apartments. Rayce gasped.

His tutor's hair had gone completely grey. His skin had paled, and sagged around his jaw now. Once-broad shoulders had shrunk in on him and a gut now strained at the belt of his tattered robe. His fingers were gnarled and bent with arthritis as he reached out to take Rayce's shoulders in his spotted hands.

"Your mother is dead, Rayce. I don't know how or why, but the moment she passed from this life her gift to me was revoked, the magic broken, just as it was with the tether that bound you to the Court. I'm still trapped here through my own foolish mistakes, but you aren't. You have to run, boy, before whoever did this comes looking for you."

Rayce was numb with shock. His mother, dead? Impossible. "Why would anyone come looking for me, Zeke?"

"You still don't see yourself very clearly, Rayce, but others do. You're a weapon of incalculable value, and an unpredictable piece on the chess board of this Court. You need to be courted or killed, and your enemies will see no other option."

"How could you know all of this, Zeke? What aren't you telling me?" Rayce's deep green eyes pleaded with the old man stooped in front of him.

"You'll know as much as I do when you read the letter in your pack, boy. Someone's looking out for you, and I pray by the Angel that they find you before anyone else does. _Fac fortis et patere._ Go, now!"

In the distance, Faerie lights were flickering to life, illuminating the swift shadows that ran through them.

Zeke's eyes widened in horror and he practically shoved Rayce through the door, his frail body a ruin of the proud warrior that had shared tea sludge with his student the night before.

He slammed the door closed behind Rayce and threw the latch, locking him out in the Mundane world. He turned to face the approaching shadows and rolled up the baggy sleeves of his bathrobe. The carpet slippers were discarded and he drew one of the twin swords, his hand aching as he clutched the hilt. His other hand produced three of the throwing knives, and he palmed them quietly. Pain flared across his shoulders and through his knees, the bitter price of his body ageing nearly 40 years in only a few minutes. He'd had over two decades of stolen time with Rayce, though, and it was a price worth paying, even with Arynessa and Baelerithon thrown in the balance.

The shadows were only a few lights away now, and Zeke could make out Kylea's long green hair in the glow, two of her cronies flanking her. She slowed as she approached the last light in the tunnel.

"Who are you?" She seemed genuinely confused.

"Just a crazy old man in a bathrobe, bitch," Zeke threw the first of his knives at the Faerie light, shattering it as he rushed forward into the enforcers. He bowled one over and slashed at the other wildly, breaking through their line and hurling his second and third blade at each of the next two closest lights. He missed the far one. _Ah well, two out of three is pretty good for a geezer like me._

He turned back to the Fey behind him and moved in to press the shred of advantage he still possessed from his surprise attack in the near darkness. The second of the twin swords appeared in his hand and he waded forward into the enforcer on the right, both blades arcing for a swift kill to even the numbers quickly.

The Faerie managed to parry Zeke's right-hand blow, but the blade in his left hand sank deep into the fighter's side, catching on a rib, and Zeke released it quickly to avoid becoming entangled. Only years of experience and a quiet sixth sense warned him of the blade driving at his back, and he dove aside to avoid the killing blow. He rolled over in the dirt, joints flaring angrily with pain. He was slow rising to his feet as his knees protested, and only narrowly parried the incoming strike. He grappled with his attacker and turned him around to slam his back against the wall. He pinned one of the Faerie's arms with his own and swiftly drove the short sword up through the enforcer's gut.

Orange light flickered behind him and he panicked for a moment, thinking that Kylea had left to pursue Rayce, leaving the old man to her cronies, but when he spun around he saw that she had drawn a pair of black batons and they were glowing wickedly as she advanced.

She sprang forward with the speed of a striking snake and he didn't have time to raise a guard. One baton slammed into his hip and fiery pain choked a scream out of him. The other baton cracked down across his collarbone and he sank to the hard-packed earthen floor, grateful to black out before Kylea could go to work on him.

Arynessa was returning from a pleasant meeting with several courtiers when she heard screams rise from the throne room. Wailing and keening accompanied it, and she paused to think for a moment. Only a fool would run toward it to stare. Better to reach safety and learn more from a distance. She turned around and darted back along the corridors, breaking away from the heart of the Seelie Court.

The farther away she got from the throne room the quieter it became, and no one else was running as she was, but she did not slow. A heavy feeling had settled in her heart. Well did she know when the screams coming from the court room were a result of her mother's hand, but this was something else.

Blue-white light blazed ahead as she reached the ley line terminus. There was no queue today, and she quickly ran up the steps to the platform and crossed into the flow. She flashed away in the blink of an eye and when she had reached her destination, she appeared on another platform far from everything else. Behind her, the ley line magic flared once sharply and then went dark. Someone had clamped down the power, and she had only just reached safety in time. Arynessa shivered when she thought about what this kind of attack could mean.

Inside the throne room, Baelerithon was backed up against the steps that led up to the Seelie throne. His mother's body was sprawled across it, one hand trailing down to almost brush against the dais, her hair spilling over one armrest like a waterfall made of flames. Advancing slowly toward him was a monstrous Faerie.

He was powerfully built, deep-purple flesh stretched over corded muscles left uncovered save for eerily-glowing green runes of dark magic. Great, curving ram horns grew from his forehead, stretching his height to nearly nine feet. Matted fur covered his legs down to where his feet ended in cloven hooves. The giant Faerie flared out wide, tattered leather wings that were dotted with holes where he had been injured in battles over the centuries. Acid-green eyes glowed out of a cruel face with a hard jaw as he raised his hand to point at Baelerithon.

"Prince Baelerithon," his voice oozed darkly past teeth filed to points. "Just the man I was hoping to find." His lips pulled up in an imitation of a smile, but there was no mirth there.

Lithe shadows were fanning out through the room and more screams rose as the Unseelie warriors sought to capture as many of the Seelie heirs as they could. Many ran for the exits; some were fast enough, and might stand a chance in the confusing tunnels of their homeland. Others were captured and bound.

Baelerithon was helpless to intervene, and his eyes were awash with anguish as he saw two of his siblings cut down as they attempted to fight off the Unseelie Fey. It was over in less than a minute. Sorrow was stamped across his face as four of the invaders climbed the steps to seize his arms and pinion his wings. They led him away through the doorway to the left side of the throne.

The giant Fey turned to survey the survivors in the throne room with satisfaction. Nearly flawless.

A small shadow slipped up beside him and solidified into Taerynia, his faithful lieutenant. She dipped her head in a slight bow, electric blue hair falling in straight sheets to her shoulders, only her pale face visible through the red-streaked black armour that she wore.

"My Lord Malchezed, the ley line terminus has been shut down. The exits are sealed. The faithful are hunting for survivors and strays in the tunnels." She lowered her black eyes again.

Malchezed's voice was low and laced with menace when he responded, "I want a census of the missing, Taerynia. They will be hunted."


	7. Chapter 6

_**6**_

The door to the Hunter's passage slammed shut behind Rayce as he stumbled forward, and he whirled around to break it down. A blank concrete wall stared back at him with no hint of a doorway.

"No. No!" Rayce pounded his fists against the smooth surface and then flattened his hands, feeling for a seam, a hidden trigger, anything that might let him get back to Zeke. He felt nothing but mounting fear for his tutor.

He stepped back, tears of frustration threatening to spill over, and he worked to steady his breathing. Above him, an orange light cast its glow disinterestedly down on him, cutting through the darkness. He appeared to be in some sort of alleyway in the Mundane world. As he roughly forced his mind to quiet its rising panic, he recalled one of Bael's lectures about the Wild Hunt. Their entrances into the Courts could only be opened by one of those who rode the wild winds of the skies and owed their allegiance to the Hunt. There would be no way back to the Court for him from here. But how long did Zeke have?

Dread settled heavily into Rayce's stomach as he was faced with the enormity of the task ahead of him. He didn't know the Mundane world. He didn't know where to find another entrance. And he didn't know what had happened to his family. His breathing accelerated again as he looked around the alley as if searching for answers amid the trash. The faint scent of feline urine wafted from the opposite wall. To his right, the alley was dark. To his left, it opened onto a street. It was concrete and brick everywhere. He felt sick. He sank down with his back against the wall and ducked his head between his knees. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real.

Rayce lost track of the time as he sat there trying to think of what he could do to get back to the Court. Bitter laughter escaped his lips as he realized he that had spent the last seven years wishing he could leave, and now all he wanted was to get back. Zeke's parting words echoed in his mind, _fac fortis et patere._ Do brave deeds and endure. He'd been telling Rayce that since he was eight years old and he had first discovered his ability. His hands tightened as he imagined what Zeke may be enduring even now. What would Zeke think of him feeling sorry for himself in an alley?

Light blazed from the darkness deeper in the alley as a monstrous truck roared to life, engine coughing and barking before catching. Rayce was caught in its headlights and he threw up his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. He scrambled to his feet as the truck rolled forward and he snatched up the pack Zeke had given him. The alley was narrow, and he slipped backwards, closer to the street. He would have to leave.

Baelerithon had given him an understanding of Mundanes and their lifestyle, but hearing about it, seeing a few hand-drawn sketches as they talked over the desk in the study, could not compare to the enormity of what he was seeing now. Great glass towers stretched up into the night sky overhead and vehicles were parked bumper to bumper on both sides of the street. Mundanes walked quickly along the sidewalks, alone or in groups, talking loudly to each other, or seemingly to themselves. A street sign proclaimed this to be Grand Trunk Crescent, but it didn't feel grand at all, and if a great tree had lent its name to the street once, the trunk was long gone.

A Mundane woman caught sight of him and slowed, her mouth falling open. He wore the loose-fitting dark clothing that he often wore at home for training. His shock of white hair occasioned little comment in the Courts, where it was just as likely to see greens and blues clashing with pinks and purples, but here it seemed to set him apart. Even just his physical stature drew the eye, strongly built and well-formed. He met the Mundane's eyes with his own piercing green gaze and he watched in amazement as her eyes rolled up and she collapsed onto the concrete.

Part of him wanted to run, but he felt badly about the Mundane. He crossed the distance that separated them and knelt down, working one of his arms under her knees and the other behind her neck.

"Hey, mister! Get away from her!" Rayce threw a glance back over his shoulder and found a dark-skinned male youth approaching him cautiously. He sighed quietly, but left the woman where she was. He rose and turned to face the teenager, hands held up non-threateningly.

"The lady collapsed. I was only concerned for her welfare and did not wish to leave her laying in the walkway, friend. I meant no harm."

The boy's eyes were locked on something over Rayce's shoulder, though, and it didn't seem as though he had even heard the apology.

"Are you some kinda cosplayer, man? That's a pretty awesome looking staff. Can I take a selfie with you?" Inwardly, Rayce groaned. This was more than he had bargained for, and now he was wondering if a cosplayer was what Mundanes called Faeries here.

Before he could respond, a handful of shadows detached themselves from the mouth of the alley where Rayce had emerged, led by a tall figure with long green hair. His eyes widened. Kylea. The youth saw Rayce's reaction and turned around to see what was behind him that could cause so much horror.

Rayce whipped his staff over his shoulder in half a heartbeat, thrusting his arm through the second strap of the pack, and _shifted_ forward, placing himself between the shadows and the boy. He heard a low exclamation of, "Awesome!" behind him as he moved to intercept his pursuers.

"Brother," Kylea hissed with pleasure. The shadows at her sides twisted and shifted, sometimes taking form long enough for Rayce to recognize Unseelie assassins for what they were. What would they be doing with his sister? She flicked her wrists, her trademark batons snapping into her waiting hands. Rayce could see streaks of blood in the orange glow of their enchantment.

Some of the shadow assassins slipped behind Rayce, and his sister fell back a few paces, letting them surround him. He had never faced so many like this before. From opposite sides, two of the Unseelie shadows slashed forward with long whips that crackled with dark-purple energy. He brought up the steelwood staff and whirled it quickly, catching the lashes with the shaft and spinning to yank them from their owners' grips.

Shooting pain raced up his hands from the staff and he was blasted backwards off his feet, magic sparking like electricity and causing his muscles to jerk wildly. The youth was still standing on the sidewalk, holding up a small black device the looked like a Sensor and was aiming it at Rayce. _Searching for demonic activity? Now?_ He used his backwards momentum to continue propelling himself farther away from the circle of enemies, breaking away even faster as he regained his feet and balance.

The pack bounced along against his back as he ran toward the busier street ahead, and he barely spared a glance upward at the massive tower that rose up in front of him. Signs reading 'C.N. Tower' pointed in its direction. He ran flat-out into the line of cars, staff still gripped in his right hand, and he vaulted over the first vehicle in his path. Mid-jump, he _shifted_ forward to clear the next three lanes of traffic, moving straight ahead toward a cavern marked as 'Parking'.

Rayce ducked under a bar and burst into Parking, eyes searching left and right for somewhere to lose his pursuers. He _shifted_ forward dozens of times to create more of a lead on them and to make it more difficult for them to track him. The realm of Parking descended deeper into the earth and he followed the twisting ramps in fits and starts. Perhaps an entrance back to the Courts could be found down here.

A whip cracked through the air and Rayce felt its length wrap around his throat, coiling many times, and his hands flew to it automatically. No shock followed, and he gathered himself to _shift_ away from the hold, still searching for his attacker. _How did they catch up so quickly!_

Nothing happened. Zeke had trained him extensively to revert back to a regular fighting style if his gift was disabled, and he dropped his staff to lock one hand onto the leading edge of the whip, pulling it toward him viciously to bring his attacker in range.

" _Fac fortis et patere!"_ A female voice cried as his hands closed around her throat. He stopped in amazement.

A woman stood before him, one hand clutching the handle of her whip in a white-knuckled grip, the other clapped over his own to prevent him from crushing her windpipe. Her long, wavy black hair was pulled back and tied loosely, and wide brown eyes were filled with fear as she repeated, " _Fac fortis et patere."_

Zeke's words rocked him. How did this girl know?

"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely, loosening his hold slightly.

"I'm the one who got a letter to your tutor so that he could help you escape. He gave me those words to say so that you would trust me. We don't have a lot of time before those shadows catch up; we need to move."

Rayce switched his hands from her throat to his own, tugging at the whip cord. His fingers came away flaked with a sticky film of dust.

"What is this?" He wiped his hands gingerly on his pants, then leaned over to scoop up his staff and clip it back into place on his harness under the pack.

"A bit of cold iron pulverized into a powder and mixed with some adhesive solution. I had to make sure I could catch you long enough to get you to listen."

Rayce wondered at that silently. As far as he knew, only he and Zeke knew about that loophole in his ability.

She gave her whip handle a shake and the length of it retracted swiftly so that she could hang it from the rear loop of the weapons belt she was wearing. The back of her black leather jacket just managed to cover the belt, if not what was dangling from it. He recognized the thin tubes of dormant seraph blades. A Shadowhunter.

"Do you have a name?" He asked.

Her dark eyes found his green ones and she nodded. "I'm Sera."

She turned around and swiftly darted past a few pillars marked with '2B', motioning him to follow, and then they were slipping through a door into a brightly-lit stairwell. Sera ran up the stairs, leather-clad legs pumping smoothly as she took them two at a time, flying around the landings with her left hand on the rail. Rayce tried to _shift_ again, but there was likely too much of the iron still stuck to his neck and hands for him to manage. Looks like he would be running, too.

They emerged from the stairwell and Sera charged down the lane toward the same entrance that Rayce had come through minutes earlier. His eyes flicked around, seeking out the shadows that would conceal any Unseelie assassins, but nothing moved.

"It's okay, they're below us right now," Sera called over her shoulder, reaching the exit and jumping over the barrier. Rayce followed, utterly confused at her confidence in evading pursuit.

She turned right and kept on running at full tilt. She probably had fresh speed runes, but Rayce didn't have that luxury, and he had to push himself hard to keep up. A great highway ran across an overpass, and the intersection below was a snarl of red lights, green lights, headlights, brake lights, and honking horns as cars tried to edge around black and orange cones. Rayce was overwhelmed by the noise and confusion. He felt a flush of gratitude to Sera as they dashed between two cars, narrowly avoiding being crushed by careless drivers. She seemed to know where she was going.

More towers of glass rose into the sky on either side of them, lights dotting the windows here and there and Rayce wondered if they were anything like the demon towers of Alicante. Rayce could hear Mundanes calling insults after them as they shoved through the crowd of milling pedestrians waiting to cross at the next intersection. Sera ignored the signal lights and flew across the pavement without even looking. He unconsciously copied every move she made, wary of a single misstep.

They were on a pathway paved with interlocking bricks now, and there were no more cars to contend with. Rayce read the words 'Harbourfront Centre' on the building to his right as they passed by in a blur of speed. Sera made a sharp right and yanked on the handle of a bright blue door, holding it open for Rayce to duck inside. She closed the door behind them and sank back against it, breathing hard.

"Wait here, 97 seconds." She squeezed a device around her wrist and it beeped. Seconds started counting on the face of the instrument.

"What happens in 97 seconds?"

"We hope that everything keeps working." She let her head fall back against the door and she scrunched her eyes shut.

Rayce crouched down next to her. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I would really love to know what's going on."

Her expression softened and she looked at him, then nodded understandingly. "I know, Rayce, and I promise that I'm going to explain. But right now I really need to concentrate." She closed her eyes again.

The seconds ticked away.

Sera's head suddenly jerked up and her eyes flicked open in surprise. _Did she fall asleep,_ Rayce wondered.

"Damn. Come on!" She bounced back up to her feet, boots already pounding along the corridor to another set of stairs. They ran upward together, and after only two flights they stood before a ladder that led up to what was presumably the roof access.

Sera practically ran up the ladder and slapped her palm against the access hatch. She must have hit it harder than Rayce thought, because it blew open, clanging backwards loudly, the night sky open above them. She hopped off the ladder to clear the way for him and then flipped the hatch back over, her hands shoving it down with extra force. As Rayce turned to follow her, he could almost have sworn that there was a dark imprint of a rune on the hatch. _Is this a Nephilim stronghold?_

Sera had her back to the east wall and was looking at the edge of the roof intently. She held out her left hand to Rayce. He took it without questioning, watching as her head nodded in time to some internal clock. "Now!"

She sprinted forward, pulling Rayce with her. Right off the edge. He didn't have time to even gasp as he leaped blindly out into the night, but he had his breath knocked out of him as his feet touched down on the roof of a tall truck that was struggling to get through the narrow corridor to make a delivery. Sera didn't pause, taking a quick double step before launching them off the truck toward the two-storey glass building across from where they had been. She let go of his hand in mid-air so they could both grab hold of the edge as they came up short on the jump, feet slamming into the glass. They each pulled themselves over and Rayce backed away from the edge.

"This isn't possib-" Sera took his hand again and pulled him across the rooftop, running south along the edge of the glass panels. The building curved away to their right, where they made the transition to an older-looking brick section. A tall chimney stack rose from the roof and Lake Ontario was a dark silhouette to the north. Sera knelt down at the edge of the building and took hold of the lip in both hands, lowering herself over the side, and then she let go, dropping lightly to the ground far below. Rayce shook his head in amazement and copied her movements, landing next to her in a cat-like crouch. She pointed at an eight-storey building across from them, where a covered stairway climbed halfway up the side like an elongated snake.

They dashed across the distance between the two buildings and hurtled around the corner of the staircase. Sera made a slight adjustment just before turning and managed to miss crashing into two men dressed in expensive-looking suits. No sooner had they turned to stare at the girl who had flown by than Rayce barrelled around the corner, knocking all three of them to the ground. He untangled himself from the mess of arms and legs while they all tried to apologize at once. Sera pulled him free and shouted her own apology before pulling Rayce along up the steps.

The door at the top took them inside the building, which was mercifully empty of people so far with the late hour. Sera slowed a bit, eyes unfocused and Rayce slowed with her.

"It's okay, they didn't see us," she said, out of breath from the run up the stairs, "And they are _so_ confused because of the roof thing. We have a bit of a lead again."

They set off at a jog to the end of the corridor, banging through the stairwell door and descending back to ground level. Hurrying past darkened shopfronts, they exited through glass doors marked with a stylized 'Q' and hopped down the four steps that led back to the sidewalk. Pleasure boats were tied up for the night at the stone quay just a few feet ahead, and across the water twin glass towers rose, connected by a glass bridge between the sixth and eighth floors.

"That's where we're trying to get," Sera said, pointing at the towers. Rayce nodded in response.

A few Mundanes were strolling along the quay or sitting on benches, watching the water and enjoying the mild evening air. Sera tossed her head impatiently and then turned to face Rayce, her hand sliding up from his hand to his forearm, squeezing gently.

Her eyes searched his for any reaction, but he only looked back at her steadily.

"Stay close and trust me," she said, using her right hand to rub th back of her left shoulder for a moment.

The corner of Rayce's mouth quirked up, and a dimple appeared. "That's what I've been doing, Sera." She flashed him a crooked smile and then turned to stride down the quay, Rayce at her heels. This time, no Mundanes took note of them, and Sera stopped next to a long, sleek craft with _The Lunaveon_ scrolled across the stern in gold letters.

She leaped lightly into the back, pulling on a lever to release one of the jet skis from the on-board dock. It drifted backwards a bit and she straddled the seat, firing up the engine, and then she nodded at Rayce to hop on. He shook his head to himself and scooted up behind her, hesitantly placing his hands on her waist. Sera stiffened for a moment, then reached down and pulled his arms closer around her, backing away slowly from the yacht. She turned the handle bars and gave it a bit of power. The Mundanes were still blissfully unaware for what was happening... but Rayce's pursuers were not.

With a screech of rage, Kylea and her Unseelie henchmen ( _hench-shadows?)_ appeared at the edge of the quay.

Sere swore under her breath, but it was too late. Kylea had snatched a bow from one of the Unseelie and fired a single shot at the retreating jet ski. Rayce had no protection, save for the pack, and the arrow pierced him low on his right side, just over his hip. He gasped in pain and his hands gripped Sera tighter as he pulled himself closer to shield her from any further attack.

"Hold on!' She shouted at him, as if his grip could tighten any further, and she gunned the engine, shooting out around the edge of the harbour and out into the open water. Water sprayed up and splashed across Sera's face. There was a bit of tree cover near the edge of the quay, and the hunters lost sight of their prey.

Sera maintained their speed a bit longer to keep up the illusion that they were going much farther than they were, then cut back on the throttle and guided the jet ski back in toward the shore. She let it idle and tried to turn to see Rayce's injury.

"It's alright," he said, his right hand moving down to feel the end of the Elf-bolt protruding from his side. Pain shot through him, mixed with fear as he recognized it for what it was. Elf-bolts were imbued with Fey magic and poison to burrow into their victims and guarantee death.

"No, it's not alright yet, but it's going to be. Just a little longer..." Sera crept forward on the jet ski, waiting for another signal that only she could see, and Rayce steadied himself against her with his left hand as his right gingerly held the shaft of the bolt, preventing it from digging in any farther.

She ducked low as they approached the quay, tying off to a cleat. She waited just a few seconds longer, then gently took Rayce's hand from her waist and pulled herself up over the edge. She turned back to help him and he hissed with pain as the jet ski rocked under their shifting weight. He managed to scramble up after Sera, his blood staining the concrete where it fell.

Sera threw his left arm across her shoulders and they hobbled forward together toward the twin glass towers they had seen from the opposite quay. They entered the north tower without a single glance from the few Mundanes who were still awake. Sera pressed the elevator call button a few times and chewed at her bottom lip nervously as the lights above the doors counted down to ground level. The bell pinged and the doors opened, and Rayce was stunned to see his reflection in the mirrors inside. He was leaning heavily on Sera now and his face was ashen and drawn with the pain. He could feel a slow heat spreading from the wound and knew that the poison was already seeping into his system. She jabbed her finger at the button for the 22nd floor and the doors closed.

"It's okay, we'll be safe now," She whispered to him.

Once the doors opened again, Sera turned them down an elegant hallway lined with cream-coloured carpet and tasteful, dark-blue wallpaper, frosted glass sconces shining cheerfully. She pulled a set of keys from an inside pocket of her leather jacket and unlocked suite 2223.

Inside, she wasted no time, shucking off Rayce's pack and unclasping his staff from the harness and leaning it against a wall in the guest bedroom. She slipped off the leather strap and then took a deep breath before gently pulling his shirt over his head. His eyes were out of focus and his head was drowsing. The poison was moving quickly.

She laid him back across the regrettably white duvet and pulled a tiny metal tin from inside a zippered pocket in her jacket. Folded hand-towels and a basin of fresh water were already on the bedside table, and she steeled herself for the next part as she helped herself to them.

Rayce's eyes were closed now and she was shocked to hear him absently humming a haunting lullaby. He wouldn't notice if she just... With one final check to make sure he wasn't paying attention, she laid her shaking hands across his taut abdomen. Swirling black runes flowed outward from each of her hands, one to slow blood loss, another to put him into a deep sleep.

The humming faded away and Sera took hold of the Elf-bolt shaft that had already burrowed in another inch while neither of them had been gripping it. She pulled it out swiftly and tossed it into the wastebasket by the door, then quickly pressed a towel to the wound as it started bleeding profusely, despite the _amissio_ rune she had applied. She held the towel in place with her knee as her bloody hands unscrewed the lid of the metal tin. A rank odour wafted up from it and she blew out through her nostrils sharply. She picked up another towel and scooped out the entire contents of the tin with it, making a glob about the size of a robin's egg.

She pulled away the first towel that was stained scarlet now and it followed the Elf-bolt into the trash. She pressed the foul-smelling paste to Rayce's wound and then added another towel for padding over it. She unbuckled her weapons belt one-handed, shook off her whip handle and seraph blades, then slid one end under his lower back to snug it down into place and adjusted it so that she could cinch it over the towels. She breathed a bit easier and laid her hand against his ribs, bending her thoughts toward healing so that a tiny pattern of _iratze_ s would bloom around his wound. It would start to close, sealing in a good bit of the antidote for the deadly poison so that it could begin to chase down the destructive magic.

Sera exhaled what felt like every bit of air she had ever breathed and crossed the hallway to a bathroom to wash the blood off her hands. As the pink-tinged water spiraled down the drain and she scrubbed at her wrists, she glanced up into the mirror. Dark eyes, raven hair and a face that was flushed from the adrenalin pumping through her veins looked back at her. _What a joke,_ she thought, wrenching the tap closed a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary.

She felt the lie on her skin like an oil slick and she felt dirty. She shook her head and cranked open the taps for the shower. Sera stripped out of her jacket and kicked off her boots, throwing them out into the hall. Her black leather pants and tank top followed and then her bra and underwear. She stepped into the too-hot shower and tilted her head up to let the water run down her body, thinking about Rayce laying blissfully unconscious and unaware in the other room. She wondered for the hundredth time how she was going to explain all of this to him.

It was a long time before she got out of the shower.


	8. Chapter 7

_**7**_

Rayce opened his eyes slowly.

He was in a darkened room with only moonlight lending a ghostly cast to the walls. He was shirtless, his feet dangling off the bottom of a luxuriously soft, albeit macabre, bed. Blood still stained the duvet that he was laying across and memories came flooding back to him. He hesitantly touched his right side where the Elf-bolt had struck him, and he found folded-up towelling under an unfamiliar weapons belt. _Sera._

He sat up gingerly, waiting for his side to pain him, but was pleasantly surprised when it did not. Rayce considered unbuckling the belt and peeling away the impromptu dressing, but figured he might be safer leaving it in place than risking Sera's wrath if he removed it too soon.

His feet sank into plush carpet as he rose slowly and caught sight of his staff leaning up against the wall. The pack that Zeke had prepared was slumped next to it and he felt a tug of curiosity. He leaned down carefully to hook one of the straps and then sat back on the bed, farther away from the mess of dried blood.

He untied the top and pulled out what felt like a fresh set of clothes first, bundled neatly, and set them aside for later once he had had time to clean up. The smell of fruit wafted up and he tilted the bag a bit to shed more light inside. Some _very_ bruised fruit lay squashed in the bottom, and he winced at the memory of being blasted off his feet by the discharge from the Unseelie weapons. A packet of nuts had survived, though, and he idly opened it and tossed a handful in his mouth, finding that they were lightly-flavoured with fruit juice now. He couldn't recall when he had last eaten something. He pulled the last three items out and peered down into the bag. Nothing else. He held a stele, a witchlight stone, and a letter that were all now lightly fruit-flavoured as well.

Zeke had said the letter in his pack would explain their hasty flight, and Rayce eagerly unfolded it, careful not to tear the page where the fruit juice had dried. He brought the witchlight to life and was able to read the slanting scrawl of writing.

 _Zeke,_

 _I don't know you, and you don't know me, and I have no way to convince you that this isn't some game being played by an idiot Faerie. What we do have in common is Rayce._

 _I am a Shadowhunter, but not like the ones that you grew up with. The Clave doesn't know I exist, and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as I can._

 _The short version of the story is that sometimes I have dreams about what may yet come to pass. I know that you'll understand that as 'seeing the future', but that's not how it works. Everyone has free will. Nothing is set._

 _This letter is a good example of that. I've had a dream that says the Seelie Queen is going to be murdered, and soon. When that happens, Rayce will be free to leave the Court, and it's going to be up to you to make sure that happens. I've seen flashes of what his fate will be if he doesn't get away. If he's captured, he's worse than lost. If he's killed, then I am lost._

 _There's a tunnel that Rayce once tried to use to escape the Court. That's the path you must take – it will lead him to me, and I can protect him from those who will follow._

 _The choice is yours now. Whether or not you choose to believe me is what will determine Rayce's future. You can ignore this letter – really, I've seen it as a possibility. But I'm begging you to take a chance on me._

 _Be prepared to leave at a moment's notice. It will happen swiftly, and you will know in your heart when it does._

 _I only ask one last thing of you if you choose to help Rayce survive: Send word through my faithful messenger, Kaelie Whitewillow, and tell me what I can say that will stop Rayce from taking my head off when we meet – every time I dream about that meeting without a pass phrase it doesn't end well for me._

 _Yours in trust,_

 _Sera_

Rayce blinked and then reread the letter. She had _dreamed_ about his mother's death? Why had she chosen to intervene and save him? How could she have known about his failed escape attempt years earlier? And _Kaelie_ was involved? How was that even _possible_? The letter had created far more questions than it had answered. He rose again with the idea of finding Sera to get a better explanation, but at that moment he heard the front door of the dwelling open.

Silent as a shadow, he crossed to the bedroom door and lifted his staff, sending a mental command to split it into two shorter pieces to manoeuvre better in close quarters. He spun out into the hall, blades held defensively, and immediately felt his entire body freeze. He tried to _shift_ away, but found himself unable to. _That powder is still all over my neck!_ He groaned inwardly and used a few of Zeke's more impressive expletives silently as an overhead lamp clicked on.

"Well there's a lovely fright to come home to, then, isn't it?" A small girl with a mop of black curls drawled with a faint English accent. She looked to only be in her mid-teens, and stood barely five feet tall, but Rayce took in the tufted points of cat ears buried in her dark hair and made the connection immediately: warlock. Her face was pale enough that he could see a flush bloom in her cheeks like a camellia flower slowly opening its petals as she took in his half-naked body. Her eye lashes swept down, veiling bright green eyes and she turned her head to the side.

"I'll be very pleased to free you if you'd be so kind as to promise you won't chop me up into bits, love."

Rayce felt the hold around his head loosen and he nodded. This had been a very strange night. The warlock waved her hand absently at him to undo the binding, and he was relieved to regain control of himself.

The small girl offered her hand to him, "Seraphine Lark, High Warlock of Toronto." Rayce took her hand gently in his left and then folded his right over top of hers, bowing his head deeply over their clasped hands.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, honoured daughter of Lilith," he recited stiffly, formality an easy habit that felt out of place in this situation, causing him to relax a bit before continuing, "I'm Rayce Morgenstern... but I get the feeling that you already know that somehow."

Her face split into a smile. "How perfectly charming!" She withdrew her hand, eyes searching behind him. "Where's the other Sera?"

"I haven't had a chance to go looking yet – I only just woke up."

Seraphine's eyes drifted down from his again and she arched an eyebrow at him in challenge. "Princes aren't supposed to be bloody and dirty when they wake up sleeping heroines, Rayce. Perhaps a shower is in order, first."

She pointed to the door across the hall from the bedroom where he had awoken, "March."

After employing a process of elimination, Rayce had the shower running at a non-molten or glacier temperature and he carefully undid the weapons belt and lifted the messy towels away. He sucked in a breath when he saw only smooth skin underneath, no hint of a scar to mark the wound that should have killed him. Since this seemed to be a night for impossible things, he simply took it in stride and added it to the alarmingly long list of questions he needed answered. He balled up his clothes and left them in the sink, wary of the iron-laced paste that he had wiped on them when he had been cleaning his hands off earlier that night. He could do without ever encountering that again.

The shower was wonderfully restorative and he happily sluiced away the layer of grime around his neck, scrubbing hard with a marvelous sponge lathered with vanilla-scented suds. When he felt there wasn't a speck of iron or blood left anywhere he twisted the knobs and was rewarded with a blast of scalding water before turning them quickly in the opposite direction.

Muttering mutinously to himself, Rayce wrapped a towel around his waist and used another to dry his hair. He felt much better when he opened the bathroom door, allowing steam to pour out into the hallway. Seraphine poked her head around the corner, mouth open to address him, but instead she squeaked when she saw him and vanished back around the corner. A black cat tail swished after her. He shrugged helplessly and returned to the ruined bedroom, reaching for the bundle of clothes that Zeke had packed for him.

He untied the cord that bound another set of the same loose-fitting black clothes he had been wearing and gasped when a pair of white gauntlets spilled out. Emotions twisted within him. Was he even still a prince of the Courts? If he wasn't, what did that make him now? Rayce pulled on the clothes silently, lost in thought.

When he was once again properly attired, he stepped back into the hall and turned around the corner where Seraphine had retreated. He walked into a beautiful kitchen that flowed seamlessly into a stylish sitting room beyond. The cabinetry was white wood and glass, the countertops made from gleaming black marble that reflected the glow from hanging silver pendant lights above.

The High Warlock of Toronto was perched on a bar stool that was pulled up to the counter, tail flicking idly as she read a newspaper in front of her. She looked up when he entered, but seemed to have recovered her composure.

"Well, now you look a damn sight better. Please accept my apologies, but you _do_ realize that you are a bit... stunning? It's quite a lot to be getting on with at 3:30 in the morning."

Rayce wasn't quite sure if he was supposed to apologize for being... stunning, so he changed the topic entirely.

"Is Sera well? I don't really remember what happened after we got out of the water..."

"You have a very one-track mind, love. Sera's fine, I looked in on her while you were using every last drop of hot water in this building. She's absolutely dead asleep, and if there's one bit of wisdom I can give you, it's to not wake her when she's dreaming unless it's very important."

At the mention of dreaming, Rayce's focus sharpened.

"She wrote a letter about me, about getting me away from the Seelie Court, because she said she saw my mother's murder in a dream. Do you know anything about it? How she can do that?"

"Sit down, hun, you're making me anxious," She indicated the seat next to her and then pushed back from her own, rising to bring over a tray with a teapot, a pair of teacups, milk and sugar, and a small plate of cucumber sandwiches. English hospitality was second to none, no matter the hour.

"Now, I'm not going to tell you all of Sera's secrets. That's her business, and when she's ready to tell you, she will. The dreaming thing is because of the blood that runs in her veins, and it's just as much a part of her as your _poofing_ all over the place is a part of you, understand?"

Rayce nodded, wolfing down a cucumber sandwich without noticing. Seraphine smiled faintly and poured tea for both of them before continuing.

"Sera's gift is also a terrible burden, and she's doubled down on her misery by taking on a permanent Mnemosyne rune so that she doesn't forget her dreams. Do you know what that does to a person? Human, warlock, Nephilim, Faerie – we all need to be able to forget our failures to protect us as the years pass. She carries every day on her shoulders. Sera's come a long way with her gift, and I don't judge her for how she's had to use it over the last five years.

"When Sera came to my city after her mother passed away, I felt an immediate connection to her. The similarities in our names became an amusement for us, like when you find that it seems every other boy in Alicante is named Jonathan Christopher these days," Seraphine sighed. "Parents try to give their children the names of heroes, but it's what they _do_ that will define them. I've never met a Rayce before; your name suits you.

"Sera was very open with me, very honest. She had seen _me_ in her dreams, and knew where to come to find me. Fortunately, she also saw what would have happened to her if she tried to lie to me. Damn shame, though – sometimes I think she might have liked becoming my feline familiar. A cat that can see the future would be exceedingly useful, but only if it could talk, so I left her regrettably human," Seraphine's eyes widened. " _Not_ that she makes a bad human... this is turning into a bit of a cock-up." She stirred her tea with tiny, precise motions.

Rayce jumped in, "So she _can_ see the future? I didn't understand her letter; she said that it was more like seeing things that 'had not yet come to pass', and that free will was part of it."

"Free will is everything," Seraphine said, sipping from her cup. "A better way of understanding what she does is to say that she can read chains of causality."

Rayce looked back at her blankly, blinking his deep green eyes.

Seraphine smiled apologetically. "Sorry, love, but I've been studying what she can do for years. It's easy for me to forget that I used to be just as lost as you are now.

"Chains of causality follow the lines of 'if/then' in our lives. _If_ you eat the last cucumber sandwich _then_ I'll have to make a decision to offer you more or berate you for your rudeness in devouring what was meant to feed two people."

Rayce looked down. She was right. The sandwiches were gone. He looked back up to her, aghast, and said, _"If_ you decided to make more _, then_ I wouldn't say no to eating them."

Seraphine's laughed trilled like a chime and she rose quickly, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the fixings for more sandwiches.

"To complete the explanation then, _if_ you hadn't said that, _then_ I wouldn't be standing up to make more now. Maybe I slice my finger while cutting up more cucumber, and it wouldn't have happened _if_ you hadn't finished the sandwiches. Can you understand how dizzyingly connected everything can be? The more people and variables and time that you add into the mix, the more difficult it becomes to follow a chain. It's incredibly complex, and I don't understand why that girl isn't stark-raving mad by now.

"Some things are more... vibrant... when she sees them. The attitudes or beliefs or preceding events are sure enough that some outcomes are more likely than others. I'm the consummate English host, so it's not in my nature to let a guest go hungry. If Sera were to dream about this, the outcome where I got up to make more sandwiches would be much more clear and focused than the one where I found some very inventive descriptions for gluttonous half-Faeries in my kitchen.

"But the possibility remains that I could always _choose_ the less likely scenario, and the clear vision of me as I am now, cutting up more sandwiches, would fade. Not necessarily vanish, because maybe after I was finished making you apologize in a stunning display of the finest Faerie court manners and flowery praises, I would end up making sandwiches anyway."

Rayce was rubbing his temples as Seraphine returned to her place beside him and tucked her tiny feet up under her to curl a fluffy black tail around them. "I think I'm starting to get it, but I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing. How can she stand it?"

Seraphine's expression fell and her smile faded, but she shook her head and answered softly, "You'll have to ask her."

Rayce picked up another triangle of cucumber sandwich and reflected on the events of the evening, starting to unravel how much Sera had needed to manage while they were running. Knowing when to wait and when to run – had she weighed out other scenarios where they had waited too long or run too soon? He thought about the Elf-bolt.

"I was struck by an Elf-bolt. Would that not have shown up in her dreams? Could it have been avoided?"

Seraphine slid the sandwich plate behind her, out of his reach. One lonely piece remained.

"I've seen some of Sera's notes about last night, Rayce, and please don't think that she didn't search for any possible way to prevent that from happening. Sometimes she wrenched the handlebars sideways and the arrow struck you somewhere much more vital and you died in the water. Other times she skipped the jet ski all together and you used underwater breathing runes to dive under the water and swim to the other quay, only to find some exceptionally territorial mermaids. For the record, you made out okay in that one with that face of yours, but they were a bit violently jealous of Sera and what her potential relationship with you was.

"Sera accepted that if she couldn't find a good way to stop that Elf-bolt from hitting you, she'd make sure she had the antidote to the poison and be completely prepared to deal with it once she got you up here."

"And she warned you that when you came home I'd be waiting around a corner ready to, uh, 'chop you up into little pieces', I think it was?" Rayce asked, eyeing the last bit of sandwich. He could _shift_ just a bit...

Seraphine must have sensed his intent and popped the final triangle into her mouth.

"Mmm, 'ou reft a 'rail ov 'lood 'own 'uh 'allwa," she managed to get out around the sandwich, chewing a bit and then swallowing before she clarified, "No, you left a trail of blood down the hallway, which I had to clean up _for free_. I have neighbours, you know."

"I thought this was Sera's home. Is it yours?"

"Yes, though Sera comes here often to study with me. This suite is warded in just about every way possible – your crazy half-sister can't track you here. For all intents and purposes, you, magically, don't exist right now."

He raised his eyebrows. "May I ask another question?"

"You just did, but I suppose I'll allow another."

He rolled his eyes, "There was a moment last night when Sera pulled us into a building and said to wait 97 seconds, and then closed her eyes. When she jerked awake she seemed surprised and we had to leave before the 97 seconds were up. What happened? Did she fall asleep for a few moments?"

"No," Seraphine shook her head. "When she's in the moment like that and she's got her inner eyes wide open, she can see a shift in events. Believe it or not, there are plenty of unlikely scenarios that she doesn't see, and if one of them pops up unexpectedly she could get a bit of notice with that trick. It's similar to how she sees when she's fighting – just a tick ahead of her opponent. Handy, that. I'd love to watch the pair of you have a go at it."

"One day, maybe," Rayce smiled. "Thank you for the fare and conversation, but I think I need some time to understand what you've told me. I wonder, if I'm not allowed to wake her, would it be alright to just stay with her so that I may be there when she wakes? I don't think that my mind is going to be able to go back to sleep any time soon, and I doubt you would appreciate a spirited, one-sided training session in your home."

"You're absolutely right, I wouldn't." She stood and ushered him through the sitting room to a short hallway at the back of the suite. Another washroom was to the right, and a closed door presumably led to the master bedroom.

Seraphine jabbed a finger up at his chest. "You just keep your hands to yourself." Her finger flared for a moment with pink fire and he nodded quickly. The warlock returned to the kitchen and her discarded newspaper.

Rayce grasped the knob of the bedroom door and turned it silently, slipping inside and closing the door again.

Two entire walls of the bedroom were floor-to-ceiling glass, and there was a sliding door that opened out onto a wrap-around balcony with an unobstructed view of the dark lake on one side, and of the sparkling city lights on the other.

Sera was sprawled face-down across the bed diagonally, arms and legs flung out from under the white duvet and sheets. Raven hair splashed across her pillow, and her face was turned away from Rayce. There was an armchair in the corner where the two glass walls met, and he sat back in it quietly, careful not to make any noise that might wake her.

Rayce sat in silence, his mind overflowing with everything Seraphine had shared with him. He replayed the previous night in his mind over and over, feeling almost like it had happened to someone else. Sera's letter repeated itself, whispering over memories of his mother, sister, and brother. He lost track of time as he thought.

In the faint light of dawn as it broke across the sky to the east, Rayce gave himself time to grieve for Zeke, for the youth that had been snatched away so cruelly, and for whatever fate had befallen him in the tunnel after he had forced Rayce out. He let his heart mourn for the life that had been taken from him with his mother's death. Part of him even wept inwardly for her. Whatever had transpired between them, he had never wished for her death. He worried for Arynessa and Baelerithon, who would likely be hunted as he had been.

It all began and ended with the girl stretched across the bed in front of him. She was such a mystery. Everything about her made him feel confused, but alive. So very alive.

He stood up, loosening stiff muscles and turned to face the window. He had never seen a sunrise.

The sky brightened slowly, chasing the darkness into the west, forcing it to retreat from the light. When the sun broke over the horizon, its orange glow rippled across the lake all the way to the shore below him. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. The Faerie revels he had attended to fight for the throne had all taken place at night to better hide the Fey from unwanted eyes.

He cast his eyes back at Sera, wishing she were awake to share the moment with him. Rayce felt his face flush when he saw that she had shrugged away even more of the duvet and was only barely hanging on to her modesty. The light revealed some of her Marks, including the permanent Mnemosyne rune that Seraphine had told him about. A glamour rune stood out darkly on the back of her right shoulder.

 _Glamour?_ Rayce turned away from the sunrise to more closely inspect the rune in question. Perhaps he had mistaken it for another...?

Even as he stared, the rune began to fade rapidly, its time and power spent. As it disappeared, Sera's raven-black hair began to lighten and curl into a wild tangle of tresses. His mouth fell open in shock as platinum and silver strands shot through the gold, and bronze bloomed through her hair. He wasn't breathing.

Rayce reached out with a shaking hand to catch the edge of the sheet and draw it up slowly, his eyes wonderingly tracing the curve of her back and the delicate ridge of her shoulder blade. He swallowed as he drank in the sight of her. He could no longer tell if it was a trick of the forgotten sun that brushed her skin with the palest gold, but it was exquisite. Had he ever thought the sunrise was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen?

She stirred and Rayce dropped the edge of the sheet, reeling backwards. He fell back into the armchair with a resounding thump and nearly toppled the whole thing over.

Sera's face whipped toward him in alarm, sending a shower of molten gold hair flying as she raised herself to one elbow. Rayce already knew that her eyes would be gold, and he was shaking when her gaze pierced through him.

She pulled her eyes away and looked down to see her hair spilling across her shoulder, taking note of the colour and connecting it to the look on his face.

"Aw, crap," she whispered. Sera pulled the sheet up higher and twisted around to face him properly, sitting back against the headboard. Rayce was still having trouble stringing together two words, so he settled for one.

"Why?"

Sera smiled sadly and shook her head.

"I think we need to talk."

 _**Author's note: The physical description, name, and nationality for the character of Seraphine Lark was submitted by Catbug :3 and was chosen to appear in this story with permission._


	9. Chapter 8

_**8**_

Sera tucked the white sheet more securely across her breasts and pushed her left hand back through her hair, silken curls tumbling back haphazardly as she drew up her right leg to help brace herself against the headboard. Rayce felt his mouth go dry, and Sera shook her head again.

"This isn't going to work very well if you can't stay coherent, Rayce."

She pressed her right palm against her left shoulder, and he had a quick glimpse of a glamour rune as she let her hand slide back down. Like water rippling from a stream, a new face slipped over her own, her hair darkening to a rich chocolate colour now, her golden eyes fading to a warm grey.

Rayce blinked at the transformation.

"I know," Sera said. "I hardly know where to begin, so I guess that's a pretty good start." She cleared her throat and played with the edge of the sheet in her lap.

"As you probably figured out last night, I _am_ a Shadowhunter. I'm just a bit different than the ones you learned about." She looked uncomfortable as she spoke, and Rayce could feel the nervous energy in her posture.

"Seraphine told me it's because of the blood that runs in your veins, like how I'm different, too. What-, um, not that I-" Rayce broke off helplessly.

"It's okay, you can say it. What am I?" She laughed and a bit of the tension broke.

She took a deep breath, straining the sheet a bit, Rayce noticed guiltily, and began to tell her story.

 _Springtime had come to Alicante at last in 2010 after a long, harsh winter. Restorations to buildings damaged or destroyed during the Dark War were still underway, Unseelie artisans working day and night to complete their work. The Cold Peace had exacted a heavy price from the Fey of both Courts, and some had whispered that perhaps it had been too harsh. A world without the Faeries was a world left unbalanced. But the voices were too few and too quiet to be heard over the grief of those who had lost loved ones to Sebastian Morgenstern's Endarkened and his Faerie allies._

 _The Glass City had never before been a home to so many orphans, and emergency measures had been taken to assure their safety and care. They would attend the Shadowhunter Academy when they were old enough, but there were still so many who were too young. The call had gone out to interested Shadowhunters to return to Alicante and help raise and protect the next generation of Nephilim._

 _Meridian Chasewell had answered that call eagerly, and in less than a week she was working with two other women in an orphanage stuffed with nearly twenty children left homeless and without guardians by the attacks. There was always an endless amount of work to be done, but Meridian and her new sisters were inspired by their charges, so the days had become months, and by now they had been together for over two years in the great canal-side home abandoned during the Dark War and seized by the Clave._

 _It was a clear, spring day when Meridian took several of her younger children to a park down by the canal. Clave officials had come that morning to scoop up several of the older children, though they were barely nine years old. The men had apologized, but reminded her that the world was in desperate need of Shadowhunters, and the sooner the children could begin training, the better. The children would be placed with Institutes and families all over the world so that they would not need to wait until they were 12 to begin at the Academy._

 _Meri's heart had broken again, as it had each time another of the children was taken. She knew she should be happy for them to find families, but they were_ hers. She _had woken in the night to soothe their nightmares,_ she _had kissed the bumps and scrapes that came with being a child in a house filled with so many. And now the Clave had come again to take her babes._

 _The sun shone down brightly on her pale blond hair as she watched the children at play, their shrieks of delight a balm for her broken heart. They were so precious. They had survived the worst disaster to ever strike at the City of Glass, and still they could laugh and love and play._

 _One of the little girls ran up to her, breathless, and proudly presented her with a bouquet of dandelions. Meri's smile spread across her face like its own ray of sunshine and she reached out to gather the girl into a hug, pulling her up into her arms protectively. The girl nuzzled into her neck, tangling her fingers in the long pale strands, and Meri tilted her cheek down to press against the girl's head._

 _A very strange feeling swept over her, strong enough to make her open her eyes to search out the source._

 _A man was standing at the edge of the canal and was looking up at her with such an expression of yearning that she was taken aback. Unconsciously, she held the girl a bit tighter, and her eyes flicked to the others to make sure they were safe and close. He strode forward up the gentle rise of the embankment straight toward her, shoulder-length black hair blowing back from his strong face. When he was just a few feet away he stopped, silent._

" _What do you want, stranger?" Meri asked, no longer frightened. His deep-blue eyes were kind, and now that he was closer, she felt oddly safe. There was no threat in this man._

" _I do not have an answer to that question, but I think that I may find it with you, Meridian Chasewell," he answered._

 _She didn't understand – surely she would have remembered meeting him before. She started to shake her head, to ask how he had known her name, but the little girl in her arms had twisted around and reached out to the man._

 _He stepped forward and stretched out his arms to take her from Meri, his eyes steady and reassuring as they held hers. The little girl threw her arms around his neck and snuggled into his broad chest, completely trusting of a total stranger._

" _Who are you?" Meri asked in a whisper._

 _A sad smile touched his lips before he answered simply, "Ahren Castledown."_

 _It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for them to gather up the children and walk back to the orphanage together. Meri was absolutely enchanted by him, dazed when he had pressed a kiss to her hand in parting._

 _Ahren had visited the orphanage nearly every day after that. He worked tirelessly around the big house, fixing small things and helping the women with the washing and cooking. He laughed with them and they fell under his spell as well, unable to resist his easy charm and sincere kindness. The children fell in love with him at once, and Meri had laughed until her sides hurt to see them throwing themselves at him in the yard, bowling him over until it was a thoroughly unfair 7-on-1 wrestling match._

 _It was the nights that she lived for, though, when he would return to knock softly on the window of her tiny bedroom after everyone else had gone to sleep. She would lose herself in his touch for hours, breathing in the scent of his body and thinking to herself that this must be what Heaven was like._

 _That summer had been magical, but Meri's uneasy fear grew as slowly and steadily inside her as the new life that had begun there. The heat from the day hadn't yet faded when Ahren knocked softly on her window and she opened it._

 _His mouth was soft, but urgent as it sought hers, and it took all of her strength to turn her head. "Ahren, please. There's something I need to tell you."_

 _His deep-blue eyes looked down at her and she took his hand from her waist to press it to her abdomen, smiling, her own eyes telling him her secret in an instant._

 _Confusion spread over his face and then fear – not the reactions she had hoped for._

" _What's wrong? I thought you would be happy," she whispered, her own fear now mounting as the thought of him leaving her began to take hold._

" _I never thought... I didn't think it would be possible, " he breathed._

 _Meri covered her mouth, still trying to keep a hold on the panic that was beginning to spread. Ahren could feel the tension in her body and he reached up to take her arms and steady her. "It's okay, Meri, I'm just... there's something I need to tell you, as well."_

 _He stepped back and turned up the flame on her lamp._

" _I should have told you sooner, but I couldn't bear to lose you. I only hope that you can forgive me."_

 _He closed his eyes, and at first, Meridian couldn't understand what was happening. His entire image was shimmering, rippling, fading away like... a glamour. A wild tousle of shining hair replaced black, and the fire shimmered over gold-tinged skin. She fell backwards in shock as he opened his golden eyes, and he darted forward, kneeling at her feet._

" _Meri, I never meant to deceive you with ill-intent. Once, I was of Heaven, but I could not return, and was instead sent back to live a mortal life. The blood of Heaven runs in my veins, but I have lost its grace and blessing in this life."_

 _Meri was staggered. "You... you're a... an angel?"_

 _He bowed his head to her._

" _Then...this..." Her hand fluttered protectively over her belly. "What will it mean for our child?"_

 _Ahren shook his head. "I don't know, my love."_

 _Meri struggled to control her breathing as she considered the implications. Her thoughts raced for some reference point, anything, and she grasped at the memory of the heroes of the Dark War, Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild. Each had been altered with the blood of an angel by Valentine Morgenstern. Meri felt sick when she envisioned what the Clave would do with a half-Angel child. Warlocks would be summoned from the Spiral Labyrinth to study it, surely, and the monstrous Silent Brothers would be exceedingly interested. Her mind raced ahead to her child's gifts being harnessed for the Clave's use, a weapon to direct as they saw fit. Her child would never be free to live their life without interference from the Clave, she was certain of it._

 _Her hands shot forward and she clutched at Ahren's shirtfront, pulling him forward with a strength that surprised her. "We have to leave. I won't let the Clave have our baby."_

 _Ahren started to protest but she was gripped by her fear and certainty, and her hands shook as she cut him off. "No. I want you to swear by the love you have for me that the Clave will never find us."_

 _What else could he do but agree? Meri would not hear any argument, and plans were laid to shake free of the Clave. A false letter was written from friends in Canada, far from Idris – could Meri come for a visit?_

 _It was easy to lie to the two women she had shared a home with for two and a half years. She packed her trunk, surreptitiously laying the Chasewell family heirlooms in the bottom and covering them with clothes. She could sell a few to buy a fresh start. It was easy to leave the Glass City and travel to the border, meeting up with Ahren there, and then crossing into France to catch a flight across the ocean._

 _The false letter had at least held one grain of truth – she did have a friend in Canada. Seraphine Lark would help her go into hiding, she was sure of it._

 _She and Ahren picked a place north of the city that was nestled deep in the woods, just on the edge of a lake, far from any roads, and began building a small cottage there. Seraphine's help had been invaluable._

 _A week after arriving in the country, the cat-eared warlock had helped Meri stage a demon attack in they city, and then reported the sad news to the Clave that one of their own had been tragically lost in battle. Seraphine had taken an urn of ashes to the City of Glass, where it had been laid to rest in the Chasewell family crypt. She had never asked why her friend had needed this peculiar favour, and she never asked about the sad-eyed man who helped build the cottage._

 _Before the first snows had come, Meri and Ahren were snug in their new home, safe from the Clave, and her abdomen swelled with each passing week, making her eyes shine with joy._

 _But Ahren became increasingly withdrawn. He would lapse into silence for days, and vanish into the woods for long spells that worried Meri. He told her that he missed Alicante, that it had been easier for him to bear his loss of grace when he had still been surrounded by the children of Raziel._

" _But what about our child?" She had asked him, pressing his hand over her heart, "What about me?"_

 _He never answered when she asked him that, and he sank deeper into a depression that she could not break. He stopped coming for meals, spending longer and longer in the woods or walking around the edge of the lake._

 _Meri refused to despair, certain that when their child was born, he would love her again._

 _It was deep in the heart of winter, when the trees were so frozen that she would hear their limbs crack under the weight of ice some nights, that she woke from a troubled sleep. A fire burned low in the grate, and Ahren lay on the couch, hand trailing down to the floor._

" _Ahren?" she called, tying her robe over her swollen belly._

 _His eyes fluttered and her heart lurched with relief, her unspoken fear loosening it's hold._

" _I'm so sorry, Meri," he whispered in the dying light. "I've done everything wrong."_

" _No, no you haven't," she said desperately as she knelt at his side, pressing a finger to his lips to hold back his words. She touched her hand to her belly. "This isn't wrong, Ahren."_

 _His head slumped forward, and she watched as his appearance rippled as it had on that fateful summer's eve. An angel laid on the couch in his place, weeping._

" _I've loved mortals for so long, but I never really understood them. Their hearts were so fragile, and still they raced to give them away. But my heart was never mine to give. I thought..." he gasped and clutched at his chest, hand spasming, pain in his eyes._

" _My Meri... I cannot live without the light of Heaven, though I have tried. You were... the best of me... Please forgive me." His eyes pleaded with her and tears ran down both of their faces. She threw herself across his chest and sobbed, her fingers twisting into his hair to hold on to more of him, as if she could will him to stay._

 _She pulled back, tear-streaked face shining, and she pressed her lips to his, desperately seeking a spark of their love, but his lips did not respond to hers. His last breath escaped and he passed from the mortal life than he had been given to atone for his sin._

 _Meridian sobbed and clutched at his shoulders, clinging to his body as she shook her head in denial. He was gone._

 _She felt the baby kick inside her, perhaps sensing its mother's distress, and she rocked back, running her hands soothingly over her belly._

" _I'll never let anything hurt you, baby. I'll keep you safe."_

Sera exhaled shakily, watching Rayce across from her in the armchair. Tears sparkled in his eyes but did not fall. She sniffed and cleared her throat, her emotions getting the better of her for a change.

"So now you know what I am. My mother kept me away from everyone, and kept everyone away from me. I had never left the lake before she died. But she couldn't keep my dreams out."

Rayce shifted, readjusting to a more comfortable position. He thought of the similarities in their upbringings, protected by their mothers, but he found himself deeply grateful to have had Zeke, Arynessa, and Baelerithon. How much lonelier would he have been without them? Could he have survived as Sera had?

Sera continued, "I started dreaming about you almost from the start, though I didn't know anything about you back then. I was 11 when it happened – a dream with extraordinary clarity. A gathering of the Fey, a tournament of champions, and a small Faerie knight dressed head-to-toe in black leather wielding a double-bladed staff. When our eyes met, it was like you _saw_ me. And I saw you too, Rayce. I felt a bone-deep connection grow that night without knowing why.

"The years continued to pass and I got better and better with my gift. I _tried_ to see you. I know now that the magic of the land under the hill prevents me from looking in, but wherever you were, you were acting like a focus for my sight. It was like looking through a telescope – I could only see what was right there. And all the while, this heavy sense of duty lay across my dreams. I was 16 the first time I saw your mother killed, and what happened to you after. That's when I finally understood. I needed to use my gift to save you from that end.

"I was still trapped with my mother, though. It wasn't long after that I saw my own mother's death – a fall from an embankment, an accident while she was out gathering firewood. I could have warned her, watched for signs that the day was near and then kept her inside, but I didn't." Sera's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"I let her die, Rayce. There was no way she was ever going to let me go." Her shoulders were shaking now, and Rayce stood quickly. He went to the edge of the bed and laid back carefully next to her, curling his right arm around her hesitantly, unsure if he was welcome to intrude on her sorrow. Sera buried her face in his chest and a curtain of chocolate-coloured hair fell forward to hide her face. He said nothing, just held her until she she stilled and her breathing evened.

She pulled back and scrubbed the back of her hand across both cheeks. "God, I'm so sorry. I really didn't want to fall apart like that," she paused and then hiccuped. "I'm starving."

Rayce rose from the bed as Sera swung her legs over the other side. She stood up, sheet still wrapped around her body, and she gave him a meaningful stare. He swiftly turned around to look out the window where the sun had risen further in the sky. Runners dotted the pathway by the water far below. He studied them while he waited for Sera to finish dressing, trying very hard not to see her reflected silhouette in the glass.

"Alright, I'm decent," she said, opening the bedroom door and heading through toward the kitchen. Rayce exhaled slowly.

Seraphine was still awake, newspaper discarded. She was watching a video on a clear glass tablet and frowning, but looked up when they entered.

"You owe me a new duvet, little miss I-forgot-how-to-work-the-washing-machine."

Sera laughed and went to the hall closet, returning with an identical duvet in a clear plastic bag. "I kind of thought I would, so I picked this up just in case."

"Hrmph. If you're quite finished in my bedroom, it's past time for me to get some sleep. I get the feeling I'm going to be busy later." She excused herself and they heard the bedroom door close softly down the hall.

Sera opened the fridge, pulling out an assortment of things while Rayce watched with interest.

"May I ask about the rune thing?" He ventured as she picked out a pair of frying pans from one of the cupboards.

"Right. The rune thing." She turned on the stove element under the larger pan. "Are you familiar with a Shadowhunter named Clary Herondale?"

"Yes, of course. My aunt. Baelerithon has told me the stories of the time before the Dark War when she first learned of her abilities."

"Good. That makes it easier. Like her, I can boost the potency of some runes, although that seems to come easier to me. I blame it on my Heavenly constitution," she snickered, laying strips of meat into the pan. "But unlike her, I have never needed a stele to lay runes."

Rayce's eyebrows shot up. "Why not?"

"Have you ever seen an angel grab a stele out of their pants pocket? In fact, do angels even wear pants? The language of Heaven is in my blood, and it's as natural to me as your _shifting_."

"But you don't have any scars. I, um, couldn't help noticing."

She lifted an eyebrow as her lips twisted up. "I'm sure you could have." The meat in the pan started sizzling and she poked at it with a fork, separating the slices, and when she was satisfied, she started grating a bit of cheddar cheese.

"Did you know that steles and seraph blades are both made out of adamas?" she asked, leaning over to turn on the heat under the smaller pan.

"Yes, of course, every Shadowhunter knows that..." he trailed off, wondering what sort of trap he was falling in to.

"Then why would you be surprised that runes _carved into your flesh_ with tiny seraph blades would leave scars? I don't use a stele, so I don't end up with the scars." She started dicing up a hunk of spinach leaves. "You'll notice that neither the _mendelin,_ nor the _amissio_ and _iratzes_ that I put on you last night left any scars."

"When did you put a _mendelin_ on me?" He asked, thinking back.

"Before we stole the jet ski. You had to wonder why the Mundanes couldn't see us. Just a brush on your forearm – you didn't even notice."

He shook his head as she cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them vigorously. She added in the cheese and spinach and then dropped a dollop of butter in the pan. It was melting when Rayce thought of another question.

"Why do you glamour yourself, Sera? Is it just so that people can think straight when they're talking to you?"

Her smile froze for a moment as she poured the egg mixture into the pan, her back to him. "Yep. You got it." The kitchen was filled with the smell of whatever sort of meat was frying, and now the aromas of cooking eggs, cheddar, and spinach wafted up. Rayce had no right to be hungry again already, but he felt his stomach growl.

"Hungry?"

The slightly pointed tips of his ears flushed red and he looked down. "I've eaten."

"Mmm hmm," she murmured knowingly.

Sera had soon plated a pair of omelets and added a generous side of maple-flavoured bacon, setting a plate down in front of Rayce before going to the fridge to pour them some orange juice.

"This looks amazing," he complimented her.

"The good news is that it tastes amazing, too."

She sat down and cut a piece of the omelet off with her fork. She sighed deeply when she popped it in her mouth and relaxed backwards into the bar stool.

Rayce polished off the omelet in record time and then eyed the meat carefully. "What is this?"

Sera looked shocked. "It's bacon. Food of the gods."

He looked thoughtful. Bacon. He would do it, for Zeke. He took a cautious bite and felt his eyes widen before stuffing the rest of the piece in his mouth. _Oh, Zeke. I never understood what you gave up to live with us. I'm so sorry._

They polished off what was left of the bacon and then Rayce rose to clear away the dishes. Sera watched him curiously. _Well, that's a bonus._

While he was washing their plates, he looked up at her, sleeves rolled up neatly to stay dry. "So what do we do now?"

"That's really up to you."

"You can't... _see_... what we're supposed to do next?"

Sera shook her head. "Don't think about it like that, Rayce. Everyone has a choice. Free will. I'll use my gifts to help you in any way that I can, but I won't determine your path for you."

He thought about that as he scrubbed the bacon pan. What _did_ he want?

"My family. Zeke, Arynessa, and Baelerithon. I have to know what happened to them. Can you... _look_... for them?" He turned the pan over into the drying rack.

"No. Without you in the Courts to give me a way in, I can't see what's happening there. But I can still find out." She pushed back her bar stool and stood.

"How?"

"I have friends in low places and a lot of money with which to bribe them. If I leave now I can probably be back before dark."

"You mean _we_ can be back before dark, right?" He folded his arms across his chest.

"No, I definitely meant _I_. _I_ invested a lot of time and effort into getting you away from the Courts and into hiding, and I'm not going to expose you to the seediest people I know who _literally_ sell information for a living. You'll stay here. Seraphine is really quite lovely when she's had some sleep."

Rayce couldn't argue with her logic. Sera swept her hand at the bookcases set against the wall of the sitting room. "She also has excellent taste in books. Help yourself."

She pulled on the black boots from the night before over her jeans and Rayce plucked up her jacket, holding it out for her to slip into. She shook her brown hair out over the collar and tucked her keys into an inside pocket of the coat with a small smile on her lips.

"I'll see what I can find out. Don't worry if I'm late getting back – I'm pretty good at taking care of myself." She pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, pulling it closed behind her.

Rayce turned the lock and the leaned his forehead against the door.

 _I_ will _worry._


	10. Chapter 9

_**9**_

 _Alicante – July 2033_

Alec Lightwood leaned back in his desk chair and stretched his hands over his head, yawning widely as the muscles in his shoulders protested. Almost done writing. He looked at the clock ticking away on his desk and winced; Magnus wasn't going to be happy.

He leaned back over the papers scattered across the wide expanse of the Consul's desk and sighed, lamenting the unnecessarily formal language required to write amendments to the bill he was trying to get through the Council. Tomorrow would be a long day of debate in the Council chambers as he pushed for ratification. He had been so enthusiastic when he had won the Consul election nearly ten years ago after Jia Penhallow had stepped down. Had had thought he would be able to accomplish so much more with the Shadowhunter-Downworlder alliance that had consumed his life following the Dark War.

Alec and Magnus had spent years travelling all over the world, sometimes bringing Max and Rafe with them, sometimes leaving them with Jace and Clary when they were home. Endless meetings with the world's most prominent Downworlders had culminated in a global network of communication, and in the winter of 2022 he had finally brought their vision to life: the New York Compact had been voted into Clave law to allow Downworlders to hold permanent and recognized positions with local Institutes. They would work hand-in-hand with Shadowhunters across the globe not as hired-help, but as partners. It was an extension of what had begun in Idris with awarding Council seats to representatives for each of the types of Downworlders, and a huge step forward for equality and equity in the Shadow world. It hadn't been long after the signing that his name had started being whispered as a candidate for Consul, as Jia had already made her intentions known.

His only regret was that he hadn't been able to find any way to convince the Clave to accept the Compact with a provision for the Fey. The damage done by Sebastian Morgenstern and the Seelie Queen seemed irreparable; the Shadowhunters refused to recognize the Faeries as anything but labourers now.

The restorations to Alicante and the Institutes attacked by the Endarkened had been completed years ago, but the work done by the Unseelie was absolutely incredible. The Glass City had never looked so beautiful, and it had quickly become the fashion to hire Unseelie artisans to update some of the old family manors, both in the city and the surrounding countryside. The Unseelie had accepted the contracts grudgingly, but they had had few other options for income – the Cold Peace had seen to that. Strictly speaking, even the Shadowhunters should not have been able to engage their services, but the law had been skirted by sending permit requests through the Clave. And so grand additions and new facades had begun to sweep across the city of the Nephilim, scouring away fading beauty to replace it with the ethereal wonders of the Unseelie.

"Be it... further... resolved... that..." Alec huffed under his breath as he wrote, hand cramping from the long night. He didn't see or hear the silent shadow detach itself from the corner.

An iron-hard arm whipped under Alec's left arm and across his throat, yanking him backwards as his windpipe closed, and a black-gloved hand clamped down over his right, crushing it into his chest. Panic shot through Alec and he fought to break the hold, trying to shove back his chair to free his legs from under the desk, but he was trapped.

Spots appeared in his vision as a voice hissed in his ear, "That shirt with your complexion? How did you get out of the house this morning?" His attacker released his arms and Alec coughed violently, black hair falling into his eyes.

"Jace. You bastard." He rubbed at his neck ruefully.

"I've spent enough time telling you that your security is terrible, so I figured I should just show you. I know I look fabulous in white, but I'm not ready to go to your funeral yet, Alec." Jace came around and jumped up to sit on the Consul's desk, legs swinging carelessly.

"And I've told _you_ that you're overreacting. As usual. Who's surprised?" Alec tried to edge the page he had been working on from under Jace, but his parabatai refused to budge.

"Everett Whitelock is more dangerous than you think. I don't know how often you get out of your wooden cage, but if you took the time to listen at doors and windows, you wouldn't feel so confident," Jace's expression was serious, his eyes darkening with concern. "I'm serious, Alec. You're going to need to do something about him."

Alec threw up his hands. "What do you want me to do? Make it illegal to hate the Consul? It's a democracy, Jace. He's always hated what I'm doing to change Clave law; I already know that. He's always going to think it's disgusting that I'm married to a warlock, a _male_ warlock, and that we have a mixed family; I've already heard that. He's a bigot. I'm not going to give him power over me by stooping to his level, Jace, and I won't let one voice shout down all the others who support me."

"And if it wasn't just one voice, Alec?" Jace locked his eyes on Alec and reached over to grip his parabatai's shoulder. "If I told you that Everett was gaining in support to throw you out of office?"

Alec shook his head. "He wouldn't dare. The majority of the city is behind me, and that's all I need. A few bad apples won't spoil this bunch."

Jace looked down and stroked a scarred hand across the top of the wooden desk, slender pianist's fingers strong even after all these years. "I imagine that another Consul sat at this same desk and dismissed warnings about the Circle, Alec."

Alec said nothing, Jace's words sinking in at last. Maybe there _was_ something to what he was saying. Jace could see that he was finally getting through and pressed his advantage.

"At least promise me that you'll accept some guards. I know that Cinder Whitescar and her parabatai Ria Ravenwood are in the city, and Cinder's probably bored out of her mind. I wish she'd listened to me when I told her she would have done well at the Scholomance, but there was no way she was going to give up bonding with Ria. We really need to get rid of that rule..."

Alec nodded. "I know, but I can't deal with that right now. Send Cinder and Ria over and I'll talk to them. As long as they can be... discreet. I'd prefer not to have word getting around that I'm afraid to sit in my own office."

Jace waved his hand dismissively. "With me creeping around, you should be _very_ afraid."

"When did you get back? I thought you were teaching for the summer semester." Alec made another attempt to retrieve the page of amendments, but was brought up short by Jace's sheepish grin.

"I've been asked to, ah, take a sabbatical again."

Alec cocked his head and let a grin spread across his face. "Oh? Should I even ask what this one is for?" Jace had been teaching semesters on and off at the Scholomance for years, a highly-prized instructor who was second to none for strategy and advanced training techniques... but he came at the cost of his eccentricities. Every few years they would pile up too deep and the Headmaster would witheringly send Jace on another 'sabbatical'.

"Honestly, I really think it was unfair. I was updating the field manual for attack formations. I mean, they've all got ridiculous names anyway, don't they?" Jace jumped up, his boots grinding into the papers. Alec sighed as his parabatai continued.

"There's this one called the 'Stooping Falcon', for an attack from above," Jace leapt up explosively to demonstrate, his head almost brushing the ceiling as he whirled in midair and unsheathed two blades from his waist, driving downward with great force and sinking them into the hardwood up to the hilts. Alec winced, and then leaned forward as Jace rolled forward out of sight, presumably pressed against the front of the desk. He stood to peer over, and Jace snapped forward like a striking snake.

"See? I call that one the Stealth Viper," His voice was filled with energy and Alec had half a second to snatch his work from the desk before Jace was sitting on it again.

"The Headmaster drew the line when I wrote in a particularly dangerous manoeuvre called the Rampaging Duck. He seemed to think I was making a joke, but I assure you, I was utterly sincere. It's absolutely deadly, but he wasn't interested in listening to my explanation." Jace sighed heavily. "Now there's a whole new crop of Centurions who will never be able to inspire terror in a large group of enemies at once."

Alec hid his smile. "So now you're back indefinitely?"

"For a while, I'm sure. Clary came back from Wangel Island when I told her, and of course we had been home for all of five minutes before your nephew Hunter was leaning on the bell looking for Aspen." His eyes softened when he mentioned his daughter. "If Clary and I are going to be in Idris for a while, I think it might be time for those two to finally complete the parabatai ceremony. The Angel knows they're ready."

They shared a grin, remembering their own ceremony 30 years earlier. Knowing that their families would be knit even more closely together with a new generation of parabatai made them flush with happiness.

"How's Clary holding up?" Alec asked softly. Luke had passed away from a heart attack in May, and it had been a difficult time for her and Jocelyn. When everything had settled, Clary had left for another trip to Wrangel Island to work with Helen Blackthorn and Aline Penhallow. Her gift with runes and the couple's long study of the world's wards were a passion project that had grown a strong bond between the three, and Alec couldn't think of a better place for Clary to get some distance and heal after Luke's death.

"She's better, I think, but still working on it. I think studying the wards is good for her – it helps keep her mind occupied and I know she loves it. Why else would she have spent so much time on that frozen rock at the edge of nowhere in the last three years?"

"Neither one of you misses running the New York Institute?" Alec asked.

"No way. I thought that it was the right thing for us, and maybe it was at the time... but we both just had so much more to offer. We can't all turn into paper pushers like you." He shot an elastic at Alec. "You're so boring now. Do you have any idea what it's like to be bonded to a talking head? Where's the _action_?" He collapsed melodramatically onto his back across the desk and flung his arm over his face, paperclip basket and stapler tumbling to the floor.

Alec narrowed his eyes at Jace, "Better a talking head than a blathering ass. And I know where you're getting your _action_ now, and in my official capacity as Chief Talking Head, I should be telling you to stay away from Brocelind Forest."

Jace peeked out from under the crook of his elbow, eyes widened innocently. "Brocelind Forest? Never heard of it. Is it nice this time of year?"

Alec shoved Jace hard with both hands, sending him rolling off the desk, though Jace managed to twist at the last minute and land a crouch. Alec sighed. _Almost_.

"I wouldn't _know_ if it's nice at this time of year because Shadowhunters aren't supposed to _be_ there. I don't know what you're after, but keep your nose clean. Do you know what kind of damage it would do if the Clave found out that my own parabatai was off doing the Angel knows what behind my back? Don't do that to me, Jace."

Jace looked abashed and stood up slowly.

"You're right. I'm an idiot. How can I ever make up for my idiocy?"

"You can look at these and tell me what you see," Alec answered, opening his top drawer and pulling out a few pages of images clipped together. Jace took the proffered pages and looked at what appeared to be screen stills from a video.

The first image showed a tall, white-haired man facing down a woman who's face was blurred and several indistinct shadows, a doubled-bladed staff held in his hands. The next still showed him with the ends of his staff entangled by whips wielded by the shadowy figures. But it was the third image that rocked Jace. It was a much closer shot of the man's face looking up at the camera from the sidewalk. Slightly pointed ears were visible through his nearly shoulder-length white hair, and the lines of his face made Jace's heart clench and his breath hissed in, " _Sebastian._ "

"I'm glad you see it too, I was worried that I was just jumping at shadows. I think it's safe to say that it's _not_ Sebastian, seeing as you and Clary laid his ashes to rest at Lake Lyn. This video was forwarded to me by the Toronto Institute a few hours ago after they were alerted that it was posted online, and I've watched it several times. You can catch sight of Marks on this mystery man – he is blood of the Nephilim. But the tips of his ears... part-Faerie? He reminds me of Mark Blackthorn. If there's trouble with the Fey in Toronto, it might be worth dispatching a couple of Centurions to look into it. What do you think?"

Jace was gripping the pages in his shaking hands. "I think I need to see that video."

Sera's black Tesla M pulled into the G Ross Lord Dam and Reservoir parking lot and she glided to a stop. The sun was already climbing toward mid-morning above, and although part of her wished it was nighttime to provide cover, she was mostly glad that it was still daylight. She always had fewer problems coming down here when the sun was up.

She pulled a black leather pack out of the passenger seat, locked the car behind her and then started walking out toward the bridge. Power line towers stood in the water, a silent reminder that Mundanes would not be stopped by the land around them. She left the path and hiked down under the bridge, edging away from where the water ran under to keep her boots dry.

The graffiti on the underside of the bridge was impressive at first sight, but she had been here many times now and barely spared a glance at the tags. She quickly found the spiraling black lines of her alarm rune disguised by the spray pain and she pressed her hand to it, sending a flare through it to reignite the dormant Mark. Otherios would come. He was too greedy not to.

She leaned back against the wall and put up the sole of one boot behind her, rocking a bit with impatience. Otherios was an old troll who had been here for well over 50 years. He and his kind could often be found under bridges like these, and it seemed like the more dank and derelict the setting was, the higher the real estate value of the location. If the Mundanes were complaining about skyrocketing housing prices in the GTA, they would faint to find out about the underpass and bridge market – it was atrocious. But that meant that Otherios was always ready to make a deal, and Sera was never short on cash for him.

The troll had been serving as her go-between with Kaelie Whitewillow, since he had equal access to the Faerie and Mundane worlds, and stood guard over one of the smaller entrances that were open to all Fey. She had been able to just barely catch a glimpse of his location in her dreams when she had been searching for a way to get a message inside, his proximity to the land under the hill only partially shielding him. She had found him last year, and once he had been convinced that she wasn't there to arrest him but instead to heap great sums of cash on him, he had become very amenable indeed.

He had been the one to suggest the Queen's handmaiden as a possible point of contact, as she had been sent into the Mundane world as a messenger before, and could pass for one again if needed. Sera had laid her Mark on the outside of his dwelling, assuring him that she would never dare to intrude upon his home (but secretly very happy to avoid the horrendous stench that came from it), and told him that it would act like a doorbell that only she could use. He'd been suspicious at first, of course, but Sera hadn't given him any reason to doubt her yet, and their arrangement had proceeded smoothly.

Sera heard the sound of a concrete slab dragging over stone to her left and she saw the dark hole opening in the ground near the water. She started breathing shallowly through her mouth.

Otherios squeezed his bulk out of the hatch and then straightened, looking over to see Sera standing seemingly unarmed (boot knives never really counted, did they?) at a safe distance from his home. He gave himself a satisfied nod and then hitched up the absolutely filthy wrap around his waist, which might have once been a towel, but was now utterly unrecognizable. It wasn't a good look for him, with his grey-green slimy skin and bulbous face. His belly sagged over the towel and threatened to knock the garment free entirely. Sera shuddered inwardly but kept her face smooth as he called out in his gravelly voice.

"You again? I did my bit for you yesterday morning. Gotcha the message from Kaelie, didn't I?" His voice dropped to a mutter and Sera pretended not to hear the part where he complained about being a hard-working troll who needed days off just like everyone else.

"You did, and I thank you for that. I need some information from the Seelie Court -" Otherios cut her off, waving his hands.

"No. No. And one more no. Something happened in there last night. I had a shadowy bastard come up here and tell me lock the entrance, that no one was allowed in or out until I heard otherwise. Gotta go around to the bigger gates. Telling me _my_ business like I haven't been protecting this spot for half a century. Phaw," he spat a gob of tobacco-coloured spit into the water.

Sera was familiar with his haggling, and knew he was just trying to raise the price. Although she could afford it, it was the principle of the thing. She shook her head, "I'm not asking to go in myself, Otherios, I just need you to ask a few questions, get a few answers and then come back. That's all."

He snorted. "And what if someone tries to go in or out while I'm gone? That's a dereliction of duty, right there. You wouldn't have me sell my honour so cheaply, would you?"

"I'd never to ask you to sell your honour cheaply, Otherios. I'm telling you to sell it expensively. I'll tell you what – _I'll_ stand guard while you're gone. No one will get in or out." She crossed her arms over her breasts and adopted a threatening posture.

He thought about it for a moment. "Twenty thousand," he said.

It was Sera's turn to snort. "You're getting a free guard to do your job while you're gone. It's five and not a dollar more."

She could see him itching. Five thousand was a still a hell of a payday for him.

"Why don't you tell me what you want, first?" He was stalling, that greedy bastard.

"I want to know what happened to three specific individuals during whatever was going on last night." She feigned nonchalance.

"Which three?"

When Sera told him, he burst out laughing. "Oh yes, five thousand alright. Each. This'll mean getting right into the Court for answers."

She paused, pretending to think it over. To be fair, it was still cheaper than she had thought it would be. She had twenty-five thousand in cash just in her pack, tucked in with some protein bars, but he didn't need to know that. Or about the protein bars.

"Fine, but all three. It'll be five thousand flat if you don't get all of them."

His mouth split open to reveal the yellow and black stubs of teeth worn down almost to his gums, probably intending it as a smile. "Deal."

Otherios waded out into the water until his sagging paunch had completely slipped under the surface, and then he simply vanished. Sera backed up onto the steep hill that led back up to the pathway, choosing the small patch of shade that would soon vanish. She would move to the other side when that happened. Laying back in the grass, she shrugged out of her jacket as the heat crept upward and she sighed. This was going to be a long day.

It _was_ a long day, mostly filled with thoughts of Rayce. She'd flipped through the pages of the fat notebook she kept inside her jacket at all times, looking for anything that might help. She had the Mnemosyne rune to keep her from forgetting her dreams, but sometimes it was easier to find patterns when she could write down certain bits of what she saw. It was probably the world's most horrifying dream diary.

How many times had Rayce died in these pages? And her? So many outcomes from so many decisions made different ways. She was tempted to tear out some of the pages that shouldn't be able to happen now, but she always worried about the circular nature of some of her visions. Even if it didn't happen now, sometimes fate could return it to the mix for another shot later.

Darkness fell and she tucked the notebook back into her jacket, not wanting to use her witchlight and draw attention to herself. She hunched down against the concrete arch, zipped up her jacket, and continued to wait.

Movement in the grass on the other side of the water caught her eye and she covered her wrist with one hand, forcing her gift to blaze a much more powerful _mendelin_ rune than other Shadowhunters could create. It wouldn't matter if they had the Sight or not, no eyes were going to be able to pierce her invisibility. She rose to a crouch cautiously, ready to move.

A tall Faerie knight was guiding a lovely pixie down the hill toward the water and Sera could overhear her complaining.

"This is absolutely disgusting, Daerion. Surely there was a better way to get to the coronation?"

The knight patted her blue-skinned arm. "Perhaps, beautiful Risellea, but there's still plenty of time to enjoy the luxuries of the Seelie Court. I've heard the hot spring cavern is positively... sinful." He turned a wickedly suggestive look at her and she shrieked with delight.

 _Coronation. Damn._ She caught a flicker of a vision in her mind's eye, and it was enough to make her decision in a moment. She slipped the knives from her boots and moved down closer to the water.

"Is there someone over there?" The knight was peering at the seemingly empty air where Sera was now standing. _Soundless runes would have been smarter_ , she berated herself.

The blade winked into sight a moment before it sank into his throat, and the second flashed out just the same for the pixie. Sera splashed into the water, soaked to her thighs, all thoughts of keeping her boots dry gone from her mind. She hadn't enjoyed killing them, but if what she suspected was true, it might turn out to have been exceedingly necessary.

She searched through their clothing and his armour and turned up a scroll of peeled birch bark. It was an invitation that read more like a threat, instructing all Faerie gentry to return to the Seelie Court immediately for the coronation of a new monarch at the new moon.

 _Well, they didn't waste much time, did they?_ Sera thought, looking up at where only a sliver of the moon was hanging against the night sky. With a sour taste in her mouth, she pocketed the scrolls and then stripped the dead Faeries of their finery and armour to carry it up to the pathway above. Sera found a garbage can and took the bag, turning out the contents back into the bin and then she filled the sac with the stolen items. She tied it off and left it at the top of the hill where Otherios wouldn't see it when she left.

She hustled back down the hill to retrieve her knives from the now scantily-clad bodies, cleaning the blades in the water. _Whatever it takes_ , she had promised herself years ago. Too late to turn back now.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Otherios swam up from the dark water and dragged himself out onto the shore where Sera was waiting.

He jabbed a finger at her accusingly. "No more favours for a while, Missy! The Court is stirred up like a hornet's nest right now. Or a wasp's. Whichever one can keep stinging and stinging."

"Then I hope it was worth the effort. What did you find out?"

That was when he caught sight of the dead Faeries on the other bank and his mouth gaped, flapping for air. "Wha- what- why?" He stammered.

Sera's voice was hard. "We had a deal. No one goes in our out. Now tell me what you dug up." His eyes bulged in horror, but he relented, words spilling out of his foul mouth.

After he finished telling her, she handed the entire pack to him, protein bars and all, and turned around. She left without saying anything else to the little troll, even when he called his thanks after her and said he hadn't been serious about not doing any more favours for her.

Sera snatched up the garbage bag on her way by and jogged back to her car.

 _**Author's note: The physical description and names for the characters of Cinder Whitescar and Ria Ravenwood were submitted by Kira and were chosen to appear in this story with her permission.  
Aspen Herondale and Hunter Lightwood were submitted by Aspen Herondale and were chosen to appear in this story with her permission._


	11. Chapter 10

_**10**_

An insistent buzzing broke through Seraphine's sleep, and she briefly weighed the relative merits of blasting her cellphone into tiny, silent pieces against the hassle of getting a new one. Reason prevailed and she pushed an arm out of her blanket burrito to grope around until she could snatch the bundle of annoyance and retreat back into the covers. When she saw the caller I.D. she considered sending it straight to voice mail, but given the circumstances of the previous night and her unusual house guest, she decided it might be prudent to answer.

"Lark," she sighed into the phone.

It was a short conversation out of necessity, and when she ended the call she pulled the pillow out from under her head and squashed it down over her face. This boy was an awful lot of trouble. She hoped he was worth it.

She wormed out of the nest of blankets and slogged her way to the washroom, grimaced at the impressive snarl her hair had achieved in such a short span of time, and then cranked the shower on.

When she was properly in order once more and dressed in a smart dark pantsuit she headed toward the kitchen in search of Sera and Rayce, fervently hoping that she wasn't about to walk in on them in a compromising position. _Although I wouldn't mind so much with him, if I can be really honest with myself..._

Rayce was curled up at one end of her couch, feet tucked under him, a blanket over his lap and a mug of tea on the side table. He was reading the well-worn book in front of him with a fierce intensity and didn't even notice her padding around the corner. She blinked and came to a stop. It was a rather endearingly domestic scene; she almost hated to intrude until she remembered why she was standing here instead laying wrapped up in her duvet.

"Good book?"

Rayce lifted his head slowly, eyes lingering on the page while he clearly finished the sentence he was reading before turning his enchanting green eyes on her. _Good heavens, it's not fair._

"Oh, yes! Although, I'm torn between relief that there are still six more, and sadness that there are only six left." Sera tilted her head to the side questioningly and Rayce sheepishly lifted the cover of the book so that she could see. _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

She kept an absolutely straight face and cleared her throat. "Where's Sera?"

He placed a bookmark into the novel carefully and set it down on the coffee table. "She's gone to bribe her friends in low places to find out what's happened to my family."

Sera lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Interesting.

Rayce pushed the blanket back as he continued, "I didn't think you would be awake for hours yet. Are you alright?"

"The Institute called to engage my services. It seems that someone uploaded a video of a mysterious Faerie warrior wielding a double-bladed staff against some blurry shadows in downtown Toronto last night. Now I need to go through the headache of wiping memories and laying down a tricky bit of magic to smooth over what people saw. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" She smiled innocently and then immediately felt guilty when his face fell. She rushed to continue, "But it's quite alright. I really only need a cat nap here and there."

A smile broke across Rayce's lips as he caught her pun. "Can I do anything for you before you leave? Or anything, really?"

"Bless you, dear, that's kind, but I had rather thought that _I_ would do something for _you_ before I left." Seraphine crossed to the bookcase in her sitting room and held her hand lightly over the third shelf, a pink aura pulsing faintly from her palm as the books there faded away to reveal a safe. She spun the dial expertly and then pulled out a while-gold arm bangle from within.

"Sera had me enchant this for you a few months ago, but I couldn't finish it until I had you in front of me," she explained.

The band was simple and seemingly unadorned, an ordinary cuff by the looks of it, designed to rest just above the bicep. Rayce pulled up the short sleeve of his loose black shirt to allow Seraphine to slip it into place.

"No, no, dear. You'll have to remove your shirt for this part. I need to tune it to you."

"Tune it to me? What does it do?" Rayce asked, reaching down for the hem of his shirt to pull it up and off in one smooth motion.

"It'll block any attempts at tracking you. As much as I'm delighted to have you as a guest, I don't think you're planning on staying in here forever." Seraphine reminded herself to keep breathing, then leaned forward and slid the bangle into place.

The broad expanse of Rayce's muscled chest was at eye-level for the diminutive warlock, and she reached up to place one hand over his heart and the other on his flat stomach, focusing her power to complete the spell, hands sparking pink. Her breathing evened and she stilled herself until she could just feel the strong beating of his heart and his steady breaths. His chest was warm, and she could see the faint white lines of rune scars.

They stood unmoving for some time, and then Seraphine shifted slightly, not breaking contact, and slipped around behind Rayce to relocate her hands to his shoulder blades. Her breath trailed down his spine as her palms continued to glow faintly, and she trailed her fingers down until her hands were resting lightly on his waist. She closed her eyes and waited.

The pink light faded and Seraphine exhaled slowly, then removed her hands from Rayce. "It's done."

"Thank you, Seraphine," he said sincerely, "but I wonder if I might ask why I had to take my shirt off?"

"You didn't. That was for me. Consider it a cucumber tax if it makes you feel better, but I have no regrets." She winked at him and was already in the front hall by the time Rayce had pulled his shirt back on indignantly, leaving his protests unvoiced. _Cucumber tax, indeed!_

She called out to him as she slipped into a pair of sensible heels, "Help yourself to whatever you'd like, enjoy the day on the balcony, but I wouldn't advise leaving if you can stand it. Even if you can't be tracked, you can still be seen. And Sera would be frantic if you were gone when she returned. If I'm lucky, I'll be back in the early evening."

Rayce turned the corner in time to lift a hand in farewell and see her cat's tail swish around the corner before she locked the door. Then he let his hand fall and stalked back to the couch, scowling and thinking violent thoughts about cucumbers.

He chose to take Seraphine's advice and carried his book out to the chairs on the balcony. It was a beautiful morning, the breeze still cool at this height, and felt instantly refreshed. The sky was almost perfectly clear, just a few wispy clouds stretched out across the horizon. The lake was calm below him, and he could already see many watercraft launched to take advantage of the lovely weather. He took a deep breath and sighed.

Rayce sat back and opened his book, but was soon distracted by the white birds wheeling over the water. He had no name for them, but just watching them made his heart swell with yearning. They were so free! He wondered what it would be like to fly across the sky like them, unfettered to the world and troubles below. He deliberately turned his chair to remove the birds from his line of sight and focused on the pages once more; he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what was under Quirrell's turban.

The sun was already beginning its final descent into the western horizon when Seraphine pushed open the door of her condo, relieved to find that the wisp of a ward that she had set on the door after leaving was unbroken. If Rayce _had_ left, he would have needed to grow wings to do it.

The ruined duvet was neatly bundled near the door, and Seraphine poked her head into the guestroom to find that it had been made up once more. Only Rayce's staff and pack remained to show that he had even been in the room.

She turned the corner into the main living area and found him in much the same position as she had that morning, though he had definitely progressed in his reading, judging by the thickness of whichever book he was on now.

Rayce looked up and let a grin twist up the left side of his mouth. "Did you manage to Obliviate everyone who needed it?"

Seraphine burst out laughing, all the stress of her day gone in an instant. A Faerie prince making a Harry Potter reference was apparently _exactly_ what she needed when she came home after a day like today.

"Yes, I did, thank you. And for the people I couldn't hunt down directly, I managed to lay down a lovely spell on the video file so that anyone who sees now it will think it's leaked footage from a movie that's shooting here in the city. It's quite a neat trick, I'd say."

He closed his book and walked through to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door with an ease that made it seem as though he'd grown up surrounded by appliances. "I thought it would be nice if I had dinner ready for you and Sera when you came home, since you have both provided for me."

Seraphine paused thoughtfully. _If I got that bangle back... he might_ have _to stay here..._

He set a large bowl on the counter top next to a stack of three plates and then lifted the lid off with a faint smile. Cucumber salad. _Clever boy_. He'd used a peeler to strip off long ribbons of cucumber into a heap, then tossed it with sliced strawberries, almond slivers, and basil. She had to admit, it looked pretty good, and she thought she could smell some of her favourite raspberry vinaigrette wafting up from the bowl.

She decided not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered, and so simply helped herself to a large serving and settled into her bar stool as if she had this for dinner every night. "I trust you had an uneventful day, then?"

Rayce nodded. "It gave me a lot of time to think, though, so I'm afraid I might have a few more questions." He took a heap of the salad for himself and then returned the bowl to the fridge before joining Seraphine. "I was wondering why Sera covers up who she is with glamour runes. She's beautiful; why hide?"

Seraphine's fork slowed on the way to her mouth as she considered carefully how she should answer, surprised that he already knew about the glamour. "Has Sera told you anything about herself yet?"

"She told me about how her parents met and she was born, and about how her mother died."

The warlock nodded and speared another strawberry. "You must have picked up on how protective Sera's mother was," she paused for Rayce to nod. "And you got a sense of how devoted she was to Ahren?" Another nod. "Then you need to understand that Meridian clung to Sera with an unnatural attachment. That impossible gold and platinum hair, her shimmering complexion, and most of all, her startling golden eyes – Meridian looked at all of that and only saw the last piece of Ahren she had. She was so obsessed with the man she had lost that she let it cloud her sight for the daughter she still had. I'd say that Sera hides Heaven's touch on her with the hope that people will value who she is more than they value what she looks like.

"Quite aside from that, Sera was just a teenager when she left that cottage in the woods. It's not easy to get on with your life when you aren't even recognized as an adult, and Sera grew up in a hurry. She sold the last of the Chasewell heirlooms and bought a plane ticket to Las Vegas when she was 17, fulfilling a dream she had already had."

Seraphine stopped when she saw Rayce's puzzled expression at the unfamiliar city. "Sin City, a gambler's haven of decadence and wealth. Glamour gave her a new, older appearance and got her into the casinos where she would walk the floor and try to direct her gift to give her flashes – a winning toss, the number on a roulette wheel that would drop next. She started small, and got the hang of it soon enough.

"Las Vegas is filled with watchful cameras, though, and it became second-nature for Sera to change her appearance as often as she changed hotels. She has at least a dozen different identities that I know about, and she's invested plenty of her wealth to create safe-houses that are off the grid all over the world. You have to understand how unbelievably focused she has been since her mother died. I've never seen anyone like her in the 164 years that I've been walking this earth."

Seraphine took a moment to enjoy a bit more of the salad, savouring how light it tasted. She reluctantly made a mental note to try this again when Rayce wasn't around.

Rayce looked conflicted. "She... uses her gift to cheat Mundanes? That seems dishonourable."

"She's not cheating Mundanes, she's making chance work in her favour. She gets it wrong sometimes, or something happens to alter the result. She's been Lady Luck for a thousand nights, and when she's there, the house needs to try its hand at losing for a change. I applaud her. Las Vegas has an impressive Institute that works overtime shutting down an incredible amount of demonic cheating and naughty warlocks looking to make a quick buck. Her gift gives her a measure of protection by giving her a warning if she's about to misstep, but it's always a risk. The vampires who run that city are not forgiving."

"I do not think I would like this City of Sin, Seraphine. It sounds like a den of vice."

"You know, love, I think that may have been the city motto for a while." She leaned in. "What we _should_ be discussing is what you're going to do with the information that Sera buys with her ill-begotten fortune."

Rayce spread his hands. "If my family lives, I must do anything I can to protect them. Zeke gave up everything to get me away safely; how could I leave him to whatever fate awaits?

"Have you considered that it would be a poor repayment of that sacrifice if you were to return and be captured or killed anyway?"

"Of course I have," Rayce said impatiently. "But I intend on returning with a plan. There wasn't enough time before, but this time I'll be ready."

Seraphine rose and pushed away her empty plate.

"For your sake, I hope you are."

It was nearing midnight when Sera's keys rattled in the front door and Rayce shook awake, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ falling from his lap. He'd been very interested to read about another half-blood prince.

"Sera!" He threw off the blanket and rushed over to her, intending to sweep her into his arms with relief, but realized at the last minute that it might not be appropriate. He drew up short as she kicked off her boots and dropped a black plastic bag next to the bundled-up duvet. She looked distracted, but it melted away into a smile when she turned her grey eyes up to take in his worried expression.

"I _did_ tell you not to worry if I got back late."

"I failed miserably, then. Let me go wake Seraphine, she wanted to be up when you got home, but she gave up about an hour ago." Rayce turned toward the master bedroom, but Sera hooked the collar of his shirt and pulled him back.

"Let me do it; she'll have a panic attack if it's _you_ that sees her with her hair in curlers."

Ten minutes later Seraphine's curlers and cat ears were safely hidden under a nightcap and she was bundled up in a fluffy white robe with matching slippers, ready to host another late-night discussion.

She yawned widely. "I swear, I _will_ get more than two hours of sleep eventually. I was kidding about the cat naps earlier."

They settled into the sitting room, Seraphine in the squashy armchair, Sera and Rayce on the couch. Sera took a deep breath.

"They're all alive," she began. "At least as far as I can tell. The Seelie Court is being held by one of the Unseelie Fey, Malchezed."

"Malchezed!" Rayce spat, eyes flashing angrily.

"You know him?" Sera asked.

"I know _of_ him, would be more accurate. He was a steady presence at the parties and revels of the Seelie Court where I fought for the throne, always talking to different courtiers and whispering in the right ears. He's particularly close with one of the Unseelie King's advisers, Iarlath." Rayce looked furious at the Faerie's betrayal, but quieted so that Sera could continue.

"He's holding your brother prisoner, it seems. My source was unable to pin down exactly why, but it sounded like Baelerithon is expected to throw the support of the Seelie heirs behind Malchezed's bid for rule... or be killed."

"It would make sense. Bael is the Crown Prince - he can speak with the authority of the throne for the rest of us. If he gives his support, even nominally, to Malchezed, there will be a far lower chance of civil war to oppose the take-over. Even an honourless son of a goat like him wouldn't take much pleasure in ruling over a decimated Seelie Court."

Seraphine's cat ears twitched. "Son of a goat?"

"If you had seen him, you would understand."

Sera cleared her throat. "Goat-spawn or not, he has your brother, and your brother has Zeke. It sounds like Baelerithon asked that Zeke be spared as part of his assent to consider supporting the Unseelie assault. My spy reported that Zeke was badly injured during your escape, but that the prince is caring for his wounds and speeding his healing as best he can."

Tears welled up in Rayce's eyes and he felt his heart swell. Zeke was alive. He felt himself choking up with gratitude to his brother that whatever else had happened, the two of them were together and had each other. He touched Sera's knee. "And my sister?"

"That's the part that took so long. Otherios, my fat little troll informant, had to do a lot more walking than he had bargained for. He was able to find someone who remembered seeing her making a run toward something called the 'ley line terminus'," she paused for confirmation and Rayce nodded his understanding. "Malchezed seems pretty smart, and he ordered a census immediately after the Court was secured so that he would know who he had and who he was missing. Arynessa wasn't on that list.

"Otherios really outdid himself, either out of greed of sheer curiosity at that point – the exits had been ordered sealed and the ley line terminus was shut down shortly after the attack. He dug up one of the technicians who manages the power flows and found out that there was one last transmission burst just before the lines went dark. He couldn't say for certain, but he said it looked like it was heading for the Rift."

Rayce's dazzling smile lit up. "The Rift? You're certain?"

"Maybe, unless there's a place called the Raft? Otherios can be hard to understand sometimes."

Rayce laughed out loud. "No, the Rift is perfect. It's what we call the cavern that holds a city that lies neither within the realm of Men nor Fey – it's the backbone of nearly all of the illegal Faerie commerce and trade over the last decade. If you know of the Shadow Markets in the Mundane world, consider this to be the Fey's answer to them. But there's only one, and it's far more grand, accessible from all over the world because it's connected to the ley line network. It's a safe haven for Downworlders where the Nephilim cannot intrude. Seelie law rules there instead."

Seraphine's eyes had gone wide. "I know about the Rift. _Why_ are you _happy_ that your sister ended up there? It's filled with the very worst of Downworld. And the currency isn't always... monetary. I know for certain that the vampires charge in blood, and you can find that you run out of capital very suddenly, and violently!" She shuddered.

Rayce shook his head, still grinning knowingly. "You don't understand. Arynessa has many powerful connections in the Rift, she'll be well-protected and sheltered there. Malchezed cannot attack the Rift with his Unseelie forces – the Downworlders there are too numerous and powerful. Quite aside from that, if he wants the Seelie Court, he can't very well destroy its greatest source of income. Arynessa made the perfect move. She's safely out of his reach, but she also managed to place herself in a strong defensive position with allies around her." Rayce's eyes were filled with approval and admiration for his sister.

"I have to say," Sera admitted. "Otherios made the Rift sound like a bad place to be. I guess I was more worried than I should have been."

"Yes, very much so," Rayce replied.

Seraphine shifted on the armchair, leaning forward and curling her tail around her ankles. "So what does this mean for you, Rayce? What will you do?"

Before he could answer, Sera broke in. "There's something else. While I was waiting for Otherios to come back, two of the Faerie gentry came to use the entrance. They were carrying an order to return to the Court immediately for the Seelie coronation that's going to take place tomorrow night."

" _Tomorrow_ night?" Rayce looked frustrated.

"Yes, I don't think Malchezed wants to waste any time."

He slapped a fist into his palm. "Then we have to try to get Bael and Zeke out first. Arynessa is safe enough where she is."

A look of hesitation flashed across Sera's face, and Rayce saw it before she wrestled it back under control. "What is it?" he asked. "Did you see something else?"

She bit the inside of her lip and her eyebrows drew together worriedly. "Rayce, it's your decision. You have to be free to act. I can't tell you what to do."

"Sera, this is my family! Please, if you know anything else, I'm begging you to tell me." He dropped from the couch to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. "What if my choice is to ask you to tell me what to do? What of your visions then?"

Sera closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"While I was listening to the Fey under Otherios' bridge, I had a flash, just a quick look at you and I at the edge of a lake. We were dressed in Faerie clothing, breathing hard, and you were clutching a battered, dull metal circle. I couldn't tell what it was made of, but it looked like junk."

Rayce's mouth fell open in surprise before it curved upward into a smile. He looked slightly pleased with himself.

"Junk?"

Sera nodded. "Certifiable junk."

"Then I think I know what to do, I just don't know how to do it yet."

It took another two hours of discussion before the three of them hammered out a plan, and Sera was exhausted by the time they had finished talking. Seraphine had nodded right off, and Rayce lifted her gently out of the armchair to carry her back to the master bedroom. He closed the door softly behind him and found Sera on the floor gathering up the poor sketches he had made of the Court and some of the tunnels around it. He winced a bit at seeing them.

"I'm sorry those were so terrible."

Sera looked up and shook her head. "It's fine. You're the one who's going to be leading anyway. I just have to stay with you, right?"

Rayce knelt down and closed his hand over hers, his eyes fixing on her earnestly. "I won't leave you, Sera. You've seen us outside; it's going to work."

Her features drew up in a pained expression. "No, it just means that it _can_ work if we do everything right. I'm sure there's plenty of ways that it can go wrong, and I can't see any of them right now without you in the Court to tether my dreams." She shook her head. "I feel so blind right now."

He rose slowly, drawing her with him by her hand, and pulled her into his arms gently. She didn't pull away, and so he tilted his head down to rest against hers. "Sometimes you just need to trust in your faith and make the jump, Sera." He was thinking about jumping off the edge of a roof with her last night, how he hadn't hesitated, that the moment her hand had grasped his everything had felt _right_.

She didn't reply. She stood silently for a moment before stepping back, and he followed her as she walked to the freshly-made guest bedroom.

Seraphine was sleeping soundly in the master bedroom and Rayce immediately saw the problem. He stopped. "I can sleep on the couch."

Sera paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. "You can, but you won't." She disappeared around the corner. "Come to bed, Rayce."

His heart pounded loudly, traitorously, in his chest, but he wasn't enough of an idiot to insist on sleeping on the couch. He slipped into the bedroom after her, already pulling his shirt over his head, his new bangle catching the light. Sera was standing at the bureau, taking off her watch and pulling out her earrings. He didn't know what to do, so he folded back the duvet and slid into bed.

Sera was facing away from him, moonlight kissing her skin as she shimmied out of her jeans. Socks followed, and Rayce's mind yelled at him to look away, imploring him to remember some shred of the manners that had been bred into him by Baelerithon over the years. She reached back to unhook her bra under her tank top and shrugged out of it, leaving her shirt in place. Rayce dared to breathe. Maybe he would live.

She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, dark hair swinging down to almost brush the sheets. She slid her right hand over her left shoulder to the glamour rune there and hesitated, warring inwardly whether to renew or dispel it.

Sera sighed and her appearance rippled, her angelic colouring unmasked once more. She turned, pulling her legs up and under the covers, and rolled over onto her hip to face Rayce. He was breathing shallowly, and she reached over to press a finger to his lips.

"Please don't say anything," she whispered. She didn't think she could bear to hear him tell her she was beautiful. She wished he hadn't seen her true appearance this morning, but now she had to trust him, and pray that he would see her heart and not her face.

She laid down on her side and slid closer to him, reaching out tentatively to lay her hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder. She felt his left arm curl around her softly and she closed her eyes. He laid there quietly and she slowly felt the tension seep out of her body as she relaxed into his side and hooked her left leg over his. Rayce drew the duvet up with his right hand and then folded that arm over her as well.

He pretended not to feel the pair of hot tears that landed on his chest as she squeezed her eyes shut and sighed deeply.


	12. Chapter 11

_**11**_

Sera's eyes cracked open and she could hear Rayce laughing softly out in the sitting room, presumably with Seraphine. She stretched out an arm to where he had lain the night before, silent and accepting in the darkness. Letting him see her, _really_ see her, had been so hard. It would have been easier to have been completely naked with a glamour than half-clothed without. And then she had slept without a hint of a dream, no flashes of their deaths, no running through endless tunnels searching for the one that would lead them to safety. On one hand, she felt guilty that she hadn't been working to see everything she could to help them, but on the other hand, she couldn't remember the last time she had just _slept_.

She dug through the pile of clothes from last night for her bra and wrinkled her nose at the smell coming from her jeans where she had soaked them wading across the water in the underpass. Balling up what was left, she tossed it into the hamper in the closet. She was over often enough that she kept clothes here for when she and Seraphine were particularly engrossed in their studies. She pulled on a fresh pair of dark jeans and a white tank top, her hand wavering over the spot on her left shoulder where she typically applied her glamour rune. She exhaled. Not yet.

The smells wafting from the kitchen were mouth-watering, and she smiled when she saw Seraphine hovering over the stove and watching a pair of grilled-cheese sandwiches browning slowly in her frying pan. Rayce was sitting at the counter, already munching down a sandwich with a look of rapture on his face.

"I hope one of those is for me," Sera said as she crossed the threshold, and the tiny warlock waved her spatula at the open bag of bread and pile of cheese slices on the counter next to her.

"Of course, yours are right there. Some assembly required, though!" She seemed to be in high spirits, likely the result of having actually had more than two hours of sleep, just as she had threatened the night before. Sera rolled her eyes and set to making her own, surprised to see the clock on the stove said it was already noon.

"You guys could have woken me sooner, you know."

Rayce's expression was inscrutable when he looked at her. "One of the first things Seraphine told me was to not wake you up unless it was important. I was very quiet when I left."

"Then I think you're underestimating how important grilled-cheese is to me." Sera waited as Seraphine flipped her perfectly golden brown sandwiches onto a plate and left her to try her luck with her own.

"There was no rush, love. The two of you will be in and out long before that coronation takes place if everything goes well." Seraphine dunked her sandwich into a swirl of ketchup on her plate before taking a dainty bite.

Sera made a noise of agreement and poked at the sandwiches in the pan.

"And besides, you continue to forget how to make use of a washing machine, Sera."

Sera groaned, remembering the garbage bag of Faerie finery in the front hall.

The warlock clucked her tongue. "Don't worry, I've already taken care of it. Cleaning blood out of the hall carpet, washing it out of stolen Faerie clothes, fixing meals at all hours of the night; Heavens, I'm positively domesticated." Her cat ears flicked irritably.

"I did the guest room! And dinner!" Rayce interjected.

"Yes, dear," Seraphine patted his arm, "That was very kind of you." Right on cue, a musical beeping came from the laundry closet to signal that the load was finished, and Sera waved off her friend and went to get it herself.

As she was pulling the pixie's dress out of the dryer she smelled her sandwiches crossing the point of no return, and she dropped the clothes to dash back to the kitchen. Rayce was already hastily flipping them in the pan and she flashed him a grateful smile before going back to the laundry. She didn't see his breath catch as she did so, and he continued to wrestle with his expression while he listened to her finish gathering the load of clothes. He was determined not to show any undue interest in her appearance and act like it was completely natural to stand in the presence of such radiance.

Sera hopped up into the bar stool Rayce had just vacated and let him slide a plate with her mostly-saved sandwiches on it. He cleared the kitchen while she and Seraphine finished eating quietly, the upcoming events now starting to sink in a bit.

When she had finished, she took the pixie's dress and vanished into the guest room to change. It was a floaty, strapless periwinkle dress of chiffon and some other material Sera couldn't identify. Its high, empire waist accentuated Sera's trim frame, and from there the lengths of the dress fell almost to the floor. She chose a pair of flip flops that she wasn't attached to from the bottom of the closet, knowing that they would be discarded before they went into the realm of the Fey. After pushing a change of clothes for each of them into Rayce's pack on the floor (she had taken a bit of guilty pleasure in picking out some Mundane clothes for Rayce a few weeks ago and hoped he wouldn't mind terribly), she tossed in a few more items and then shouldered the bag to leave.

She opened the door and Rayce brushed past her quickly to switch into the knight's clothing, not even glancing at her. He was acting strangely. A knot tightened in her stomach as she worried about the previous night. This was exactly what she had seen would happen if he saw her too soon – she mentally kicked herself for her carelessness. She shrugged it off. They had to focus on the mission now.

Sera had just finishing packing a bit of food into the bag when Rayce stepped out of the guest room. The faerie knight had been nearly as tall as Rayce, so the fit was good. He was dressed almost entirely in white leather with deep green accents setting off the look. He seemed completely unconcerned as he picked up and donned the white scale-mail from the floor of the sitting room where he had been cleaning it that morning. The finished look was startling against his own colouring and he grinned rakishly at the two women staring at him.

"Problem, ladies?"

Their nervous laughter broke the tension and he went to retrieve the harness for his staff.

"I'm glad it's you and not me in the armour," Sera called. "You're going to roast to death out there!"

Rayce and Sera had bid farewell to Seraphine with hugs and best wishes, everything packed carefully and Rayce's staff slung across his back once more. He looked much more complete with it. They weren't anticipating any trouble while getting to the entrance to the Seelie Court, so he had slipped his arms through the straps of the pack in a fit of chivalry, despite how silly it looked with a half-cloak draped over one shoulder and his staff sticking up over the other. Sera had pressed common _mendelin_ runes onto each of their arms and they vanished from Mundane view.

Seraphine's condo building was so close to the ferry terminal that they just walked along the path that bordered the lake, invisible in the bright sunlight. The breeze by the water was just a touch cooler and Sera watched Rayce for any sign that he even noticed the heat, but she was disappointed. She felt completely out of sorts bearing her true appearance, however invisible, strolling along the shore of Lake Ontario with a prince of the Courts. For all she could tell from his relaxed expression, he did this every day.

Sunlight sparkled off the water blindingly and they kept as far to the right as possible to avoid being run down by cyclists. There were so many Mundanes out enjoying the day that they needed to be careful not to cause any alarm by bumping into anyone.

The Hanlon's Point ferry departed every half hour for the Toronto islands to land just south of the Billy Bishop airport, and it was easy to slip on board just as it was about to launch. The ferry chugged along out into the water and they were treated to a gorgeous view of the CN Tower and the city skyline behind them.

Rayce and Sera leaped off the ferry as it approached the landing, avoiding the Mundane foot traffic, and then they were on the path that led around the island to their destination. They passed a covered pavilion on the left and then they were swallowed up by the greenery, the city vanishing behind the screen of trees, even if the noise from the airport didn't.

"Are you nervous?" Rayce broke the comfortable silence between them, casting a look down and sideways at Sera.

"Nervous? Psh," she waved her hand dismissively. "I break into Faeries Courts all the time. This is actually a bit of a dull Wednesday for me, to be honest. We should probably also make a quick stopover in Alicante for tea with the Consul while we're at it."

Rayce shook his head and smiled, then unconsciously reached over to lace the fingers of his left hand through those on her right. She looked at him in surprise, but didn't pull away.

Sera wished that they could just keep walking, a mismatched bridesmaid and faerie warrior, just like any other couple enjoying the promenade along the lake. She had enough money now that they could just disappear and never be found by the Clave or the Courts. A chill ran through her and she could almost hear the echo of her mother's voice promising that the Clave would never find her. A lot of good that had done _her_. Sera shook the thoughts away. She wouldn't run.

It wasn't long before they turned off onto the small path that led to the Gibraltar Point lighthouse and it came into view ahead of them. The aged, grey stones rose in a tower that had a red wooden door set into it. A balcony ran all the way around the glass windows high above where the light would shine out at night.

Sera took a deep breath and turned to Rayce, gently lifting her hand out of his to lay it on the side of his neck, her brows knitted with concentration as she recalled the dead Faerie knight's features. Her stomach twisted as she thought about Rayce wearing a dead man's face, but she shoved the image out of her mind and finished the glamour rune to complete his disguise. She poured strength into it so that it could hold up in the Court against those who were naturally born with the Sight. The clothing would help ease the burden on the runes they were using, helping to build the illusion more strongly, but she was prepared for the possibility of needing to reapply them while they were still within the Seelie Court.

When she dropped her hand, Daerion lived and breathed once more, and it took her only another few moments to turn her thoughts to her own appearance, a much more familiar practice. Risellea's vibrant blue skin bloomed along Sera's own and her hair darkened into a long, straight fall of navy locks. Sera turned her now heart-shaped face up at Rayce and nodded. It would hold for a time, and they both needed to watch each other for any signs that they were fading. The more eyes that watched them, the faster the runes would burn through.

Rayce passed the pack to Sera and it vanished under a strong _mendelin_ rune, settling into place on her back now so that Rayce would be free to fight if things got out of hand. She ran her hand down the length of the double-bladed staff and it shimmered, becoming a much more ordinary quarterstaff. The closer it stayed to its true appearance, the easier it would be to maintain the illusion. He could hardly remain unnoticed with his distinctive weapon – it was well-recognized within the Court.

Their final preparations complete, they nodded to each other and Sera placed her hand against the red door, an opening rune flaring quickly and allowing them to vanish into the dark interior. Neither one of them saw the dark shadow watching from up in trees.

Inside, Rayce could feel the entrance to the Court tugging at his Faerie blood, and he pointed silently to the east wall and nodded. He touched the stones where the mortar was beginning to crumble and the entrance revealed itself to him. Sera followed after and they descended into a wide tunnel that was lit on both sides by suspended will-'o-the-wisp lights burning brightly.

They hadn't gone far when a pair of Faerie knights stepped away from the walls and barred the way forward. Sera's heart leaped into her throat. If only she could have seen this! She cursed the magic of the land under the hill that kept her blind and her hand twitched toward where she had a pair of blades strapped to her thigh under the dress.

Rayce stopped and twisted his right hand in a intricate gesture over his breast and bowed with his left hand tucked behind his back. He lifted his head and greeted the two knights easily. "Honour to the throne, brothers. My companion and I have come as bidden for the coronation." He produced the scroll of birch that Sera had scavenged from the real Daerion and Risellea, and handed it to the guard smoothly.

The one on the left took the invitation and gave it only a quick glance before he nodded. "Your names? For the census, of course."

Rayce provided their stolen identities without a hint of deceit on his face, and Sera had to school her own expression to hide the surprise that she was feeling as she watched Rayce back in his own world. The man who had been scarfing down grilled-cheeses just a few hours ago was gone, replaced by a prince in truth. She silently thanked the Angel that half-Faeries could lie.

They passed through the checkpoint without issue and Sera dared to start breathing again. Rayce leaned down just slightly to whisper to her, "Have faith, Sera."

The tunnels were more empty than she had thought they would be with so many trapped here, and she whispered as much to Rayce.

He nodded and whispered back, "Everyone will be shuttered away behind closed doors looking for the best way to profit from this situation. If they are going to make any moves, they will keep them hidden from common eyes."

Sera's heart pounded as they delved deeper and deeper into the Faerie realm. Soon they began passing great caverns that opened off the main path, beautifully striated stalagmites rising out of the ground while stalactites dripped down from the ceiling, shot through with streaks of mica. She wondered wildly where the hot springs cavern was that Daerion had mentioned, and then had to forcefully reel her thoughts away from exactly how _sinful_ they could be with Rayce. She felt a wave of gratitude that her blue complexion probably wouldn't show that she was blushing madly.

Rayce touched her arm lightly and gestured ahead of them, whispering, "We're getting close. Is there any way to test how much time we have left on the glamours?"

Sera shook her head. "No. I don't think they've been tested very much, I think we're okay."

He nodded and led the way forward once more. He was angling them toward the side entrance to the throne room, the one his mother had often used when she held Court. It felt strange to walk in her footsteps now, having always used the more common entrance at the far end of the chamber, but they needed to get as close as they could before straining their glamour runes. He could feel his palms starting to sweat a bit as he visualized what they were about to do.

His first reaction to Sera's news last night had been to find a way to free Bael and Zeke from Malchezed's clutches. Once they were safe, it would remove any chance that the Crown Prince could be used as a hostage in the future if the Seelie warriors could be rallied to oust the invaders.

But hearing about her flash of a vision had changed that. Seraphine had been the one to point out that they were exceedingly unlikely to be able to rescue such a well-guarded prisoner as Bael, and there was no way of telling what shape Zeke would be in. Sera had agreed, and Rayce had been forced to concede the point.

They had focused instead on how to delay Malchezed's ascent to power until they could rally support with Arynessa for a revolt, and the best way to ensure that was to steal the Seelie crown. _Steal my mother's crown,_ Rayce thought. Sera's flash had shown him holding an ugly circlet, and he had been pleased to realize what that had meant.

The Seelie crown was extraordinarily powerful; it allowed the ruler of the Seelie Court to draw on the earth's own power to significantly augment their own. The coronation was more than just an empty ceremony as it was for Mundanes. It was the bonding of the crown's power to the ruler. There were very few Faeries who would be able to remember when Rayce's mother had ascended the first Seelie throne and had the crown created, but it had been done by tempering the power of Heaven in the forges of Hell, the children of angels and demons binding their legacy to a wondrous relic.

The crown had been conceived to reflect the heart of the wearer so that the Fey would not be deceived by evasive words and cleverly crafted half-truths; the crown's appearance would shift to match the regard for the Court of whosoever held it. In the hands of the Seelie Queen, it had shone brilliantly and dazzled with its beauty as she proudly ruled the people she loved so dearly. To know that Sera had seen nothing but a battered circlet of scrap metal in Rayce's hands had brought a smile to his lips. He had certainly never had a desire to rule, and the years he had spent prize-fighting for his mother had soured him on his own people. They refused to recognize the part of him that was Fey; they were blinded by the Shadowhunter in him.

He drew level with the side entrance to the throne room and stopped. The crown would have to be on the throne for the coronation later that evening, and it would be on display right now for the visiting courtiers to see.

Rayce shot one last questioning look at Sera and she nodded back that she was ready. They slipped through the entrance.

The throne room was darker than Rayce could ever remember seeing it, its appearance more closely mirroring the black cavern that he had seen through the scrying mirror so many years ago. Stark white Faerie lights lent a washed out glow to the dark stone walls that closed around the Seelie throne menacingly and Rayce felt his heart tighten in his chest. His mother's rolling woodland throne room with butterflies was a thing of the past now, it would seem, but the pragmatist in him noted that darkness would only help their plan.

Unseelie warriors dotted the cavern, keeping watch over the small groups of Seelie courtiers who had come to see the crown and whisper among themselves. Rayce looked up at twisted oak throne and saw a shining crown nestled on a purple cushion there. He breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been pretty confident about what would happen, having learned from his brother what a coronation would entail after their mother had named Bael to be the Crown prince a few years ago, but anything could have happened to it. A hostile takeover was not exactly what his mother had been planning for when she had made arrangements with Bael. _Or was it?_ Rayce wondered.

He watched as Sera took a good long look at the crown, and they casually drifted closer to afford her a better view. He leaned over, trailing his fingers down her arms for the benefit of anyone watching. Maybe a little bit for his own benefit. He whispered in her ear. "Can you do it?"

"Yes," she breathed back.

He turned her back toward the doorway and they slipped out unnoticed.

Sera was already shrugging off the invisible pack and cancelling the _mendelin_ on it, crouching down to drop it to the floor. She untied the top and pulled out a costume jewelry tiara that Seraphine had dug up, turning it in her hands thoughtfully. Rayce turned to keep watch over the doorway and tunnel in case they had any unexpected company.

Last night, the argument about how to successfully carry off the heist had gone in circles until Sera had suggested making use of her gift with runes to buy them a lead. Rayce would get her close enough to see the crown and then she would be able to cloak a fake in its image. She would give him the strongest _mendelin_ she could manage so that he could pass through the onlookers unseen and make the swap. It sounded horrifyingly simple, risky, and dangerous all at the same time. Sera had argued that simplicity was the best option. Complicated plans had too many things that could go wrong, and if there was one thing they didn't need, it was more things to go wrong.

Rayce looked down and saw a duplicate of his mother's crown in Sera's hands. She made the pack vanish again and stood.

"You'll have to be fast," she whispered to Rayce. He nodded and took the fake from her. She reached up to cup his face in her hands gently, then slid them down around the back of his neck. He felt her fingers stiffen and her palms warm sharply. She gasped and staggered back against the wall. Even she couldn't see him now, but she could still feel him there. "Go!" She whispered hoarsely, sliding down until she was sitting on the hard-packed dirt of the tunnel in her beautiful dress. Her breathing was laboured and dark spots bloomed on the edge of her vision. _No! Fight it!_

Weakness raced through her limbs and her head lolled to the side. She felt drunk. She ordered her arms to push herself back up, but had only managed to make it to all fours when Rayce's panicked whisper spoke in her ear, "Sera! We have to go!"

She nodded weakly and tried to rise again but failed. Invisible arms swept under her and lifted her back to her feet. She leaned against Rayce heavily. "I'm such an idiot," she whispered, dispelling his invisibility so that she wouldn't look quite so strange leaning against thin air to any observers. He had unceremoniously looped his belt through the circlet of the Seelie crown and it rested against his hip carelessly, just peeking out from under the half-cloak that hung from one shoulder.

"You're brilliant. Come on, lean on me."

They shuffled away from the throne room and Sera tried to force some clarity back into her mind. She raised her left hand and dragged it across the base of her throat, an energy rune racing away from her finger tips, and she felt it beginning to take effect. She dropped her arm from around Rayce and started to stride forward more quickly, but he caught her hand and pulled her back.

"Slowly," he whispered. "Only guilty people run."

He took the lead and started retracing their route, but shouts up ahead near the common entrance to the throne room brought them up short. He shook his head and turned back, taking a different branching instead, trying to navigate around the rising noise.

Faint shouts about the Seelie crown reached his ears and he knew the game was up. His mind started racing. They couldn't be caught down here, but he also didn't want to lead a horde of angry Fey back to Seraphine's doorstep if they were discovered and needed to make a run for it. His mind flickered to the ley line terminus, but it would surely still be under close guard. _Think!_ He howled at himself. Where could the Fey not follow?

Something Sera had said earlier flashed across his memory and he made up his mind, adjusting their course.

Sera was completely lost by now, poorly-drawn sketches utterly unhelpful, and she had to trust Rayce's guidance. Her visions were still obscured by the magic of the Court, or else she might have seen what Rayce was planning and put a stop to it.

They kept moving steadily, but unhurriedly, and the commotion behind them faded until they were alone again in the Faerie-lit tunnels. Time felt like it was stretching and Sera felt disoriented, putting a hand to her head as it started throbbing in protest against whatever was happening.

"It's okay," Rayce said reassuringly. "The headache is caused by the way the realm of Faerie bends around the Mortal world. They don't connect seamlessly, and it can be strange to cross one of those seams."

Sera nodded and rubbed at her temples as the ache increased. Rayce was presumably more accustomed to it or protected by his Faerie heritage. She lost track of worrying about where they were going as the pain increased, and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

She didn't know how much time had passed as they crossed the seam, but she noticed when the quality of the light shifted around them and the tunnel started angling upward again.

They turned around a bend in the tunnel and stumbled into four Faerie knights guarding another checkpoint.

The guards turned as one at the unexpected intrusion and their hands shot to the hilts of their weapons when they saw Sera. She gasped and looked down, seeing her pale gold skin instead of Risellea's blue.

Rayce didn't hesitate for a moment, whipping his staff off his back and _shifting_ himself forward to reappear behind the checkpoint. He cut down two of the guards before they could even draw their swords, and the other two spun around to face him. It was a wasted effort on their part as he _shifted_ again, one end of his staff slicing across the third guard's throat before he _shifted_ away from the fourth's slash and materialized behind him. The fourth guard fell silently, his blood seeping into the hard-packed earth of the tunnel floor.

Sera was stunned by the speed and violence of his attack. She hadn't even had time to hike up her dress to snatch the blades from her thigh sheath.

Rayce flipped the staff back over his shoulder and stretched out his hand to her. "Let's go, we're almost out." She walked forward and placed her hand in his. _Whatever it takes_.

She gathered the folds of her dress up in her right hand and started running with him, her bare feet slapping the tunnel floor. Rayce ran easily at her side and she saw that his glamour rune was expiring now, white streaking through Daerion's hair as it returned to Rayce's natural colour.

Sunlight brightened ahead and they burst out of the tunnel from the giant bole of a monstrous tree. Sera looked back as they passed through and was astounded at the exit. The limbs of the tree were bowed with age, and some dipped nearly all the way back down to the earth. It looked like a tree that had been there since the birth of the world.

Rayce had continued forward to the edge of a lake, the late afternoon sun shining down over the tops of the trees that surrounded it, and he unclasped his belt to slide the Seelie crown into his hands.

Sera caught up to him, huffing a bit, and looked at him holding the ugly circlet, recognizing the vision she had seen the night before. She sighed with relief, and then looked around curiously. This wasn't Lake Ontario.

"Where are we, Rayce?" she asked.

He looked down at her with a touch of guilt in his eyes. "The one place I could think of where the Fey wouldn't follow."

Sera's eyes darkened and she tilted her head in warning for him to continue.

"Idris."


	13. Chapter 12

_**12**_

"Idris? _Idris!"_ Sera shouted. "Are you out of your _mind?"_

Rayce took a step back from the vehemency in her tone. "The Fey won't follow us here. I can give the crown to the Shadowhunters and they can protect it until we figure out what to do next. It'll be safe here. Maybe they'll even see it as a peace offering."

"A _peace_ offering? I can just hear them right now! 'Oh, what a lovely, angry Faerie army you've brought us!'," Sera threw up her hands in exasperation.

Rayce snatched one of her wrists out of the air and pulled her arm down, bringing their faces together, his teeth bared just a bit. "If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it."

Sera was instantly flooded with regret for her outburst. She'd lost control. It wasn't his fault.

"I just... Everything's moving so quickly. I haven't had a chance to sleep and try to see what could be waiting ahead of us. I'm not used to being so blind. I'm sorry I shouted at you." She turned her eyes down and waited.

He loosened his hold on her wrist, sliding his hand up until it folded over hers and pulled it over his heart. "I'm sorry, too. I probably should have said something sooner."

"No, you're right. This was the best option." Sera looked back through the trees at the monstrous trunk that served as a gateway to the Faerie realm. "I don't think we should test our luck here, though. Alicante is still a long way away, and the Fey might think it's worth the risk to hunt us across Brocelind Plain."

"Agreed."

Sera swung the pack down to the grass and started pulling out the spare clothes she had packed that morning, tossing Rayce a pair of dark blue jeans, a black tank top and a black button-down shirt. She had just packed the clothes she had had lunch in for herself, and she turned around to avoid the distraction of watching Rayce strip out of his Faerie armour.

She finished before he did and so she dug out her boots and started pulling them on. She left her jacket in the bottom of the bag, though – it was too warm to wear it for what was going to be a long walk. Sera stood up and turned to find Rayce just slipping his arms through the sleeves of the button-down shirt, the glimmer of the enchanted arm band above his right bicep catching the light before vanishing as he shrugged the shirt into place. Rayce slipped his staff's harness over his head and then looked to Sera as he was rolling up the sleeves, nodding that he was ready to go.

They left the stolen clothes on what appeared to be the western bank of Lake Lyn and took their bearings, angling northeast to intercept the river that led to the City of Glass.

"My people call this the Mirror of Dreams," Rayce said as they were walking along the north edge of the lake. "It is said that drinking its waters can grant the Fey true visions."

"Its waters are poison to Shadowhunters, though. I always thought that was a bit rude of Raziel." She looked out across the water where it glittered in the late afternoon sun. "It kind of reminds me of home, though. I grew up in a place just like this."

Rayce reached over to take her hand, giving it a squeeze as they kept walking. They were making good time, and soon came to the place where the river branched off to the north, winding its way through the hills until it reached Alicante.

As they scrambled up and down the grassy slopes, sometimes a manor house would appear in the distance, and Sera looked at them enviously. "You know, there are probably perfectly good horses sitting in a stable, ripe for stealing."

"Sera!"

"Well, I'm just saying..."

"No."

They continued on in silence for a few minutes after that. The sun was dipping lower toward the horizon and its light shifted to a pale orange that brushed the rolling grasses, seeming to set them afire. Sera's legs were starting to ache from all the climbing, but Rayce still showed no signs of tiring.

Sera and Rayce crested a rise and saw what looked like small houses dotting the land ahead. Rayce looked elated that they had reached their goal, but Sera laid a hand on his arm.

"We're not there yet. This is Alicante's City of Bones, where the mausoleums of the dead rest. The easiest path will take us right through it."

He nodded and they descended into the city of the dead.

They were soon passing headstones and crypts carved with Shadowhunter family names. Sera hoped that Rayce wasn't seeing how many of those dates terminated near the end of 2007, but she knew what they meant. Part of her almost wanted to look for the Chasewell crypt to see where Meridian's false ashes had been entombed in 2010, but she pushed the thought aside as too morbid. It was just another lie.

Ahead, a monument rose near the centre of the necropolis, adamas gleaming in the failing light. Sera turned to find Rayce so that she could steer him away from it, but he had stopped a few rows back, his hands braced against the gates of a grand white marble mausoleum.

Morgenstern. The name was engraved over an archway flanked by two marble angels, their wings sweeping away from the entrance. As Sera got closer, she could see him tracing letters lightly with his right hand. _Roderick. Amalia._ The names were worn with age, and the dates below were lost. She could feel her heart breaking with sadness for Rayce.

"He's not here," Rayce whispered. "My father."

"Rayce..." Sera didn't know what to do. She slid her hand up his back and she rested her face against his shoulder.

His fingers curled closed until his knuckles were pressed into the marble, and after a moment he pushed himself away from the vault. He shook off Sera's hand and started running toward the centre of the necropolis.

"Rayce, wait!" Sera called after him, but his only response was to _shift_ forward, lengthening the gap between them.

By the time she caught up he was already on his knees in front of the monument, a tall spire of adamas crafted by the Iron Sisters of the Adamant Citadel following the Dark War. It had originally been planned to be set at the crossroads outside the city near Brocelind Plain, but the survivors and families of the lost Endarkened had pleaded for their loved ones to be interred here, among their brothers and sisters. It had not been their choice to be Turned by Sebastian Morgenstern, to lose the blessing of Heaven, and their immortal souls would not be punished for his crimes.

A poem was carved into the adamas, one that every Shadowhunter knew by heart, but that never failed to evoke sadness for those who had been lost:

 _Through many countries and over many seas  
I have come, Brother, to these melancholy rites,  
to show this final honour to the dead,  
and speak (to what purpose?) to your silent ashes,  
since now fate takes you, even you, from me.  
Oh, Brother, ripped away from me so cruelly,  
now at least take these last offerings, blessed  
by the tradition of our parents, gifts to the dead.  
Accept, by custom, what a brother's tears drown,  
and, for eternity, Brother, 'Hail and Farewell'. _

_-Gaius Valerius Catullus_

Tears were falling slowly down his face as Rayce's lips moved silently, reading the epitaph below that spoke of the Dark War and those who had been ripped from their families and parabatai by his father.

He turned to look over his shoulder at Sera, green eyes shining in the last of the day's light as the sun vanished below the horizon. She knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him helplessly.

She could feel his shoulders shaking quietly and she held him tighter, nuzzling her face into his back next to where his staff hung, completely at a loss for words. What could she say? She knew what his father had done, the terrible stain that he had left on the Shadowhunters' history. It wasn't Rayce's fault. But he never would have been born if his mother and father hadn't made their dark alliance.

He closed his hands over her forearms and stood slowly, his touch letting her know that he wasn't brushing her away this time. He stepped away from her embrace as if in a dream, slowly circling the monument to read the names carved into the adamas. He took a deep breath and turned away from it when he had completed the circuit and returned to face her.

"Let's go." His voice didn't waver, and his face had masked away the emotions that had driven him to his knees. Years of training at Baelerithon's side had given him the control he needed for this. He could bury it.

Hand in hand, they left the city and its dead behind them and continued on toward Alicante.

"Come in, Jace," Alec said tiredly. It had been another long day, but having his parabatai near lent him a boost of fresh strength. It was already past sundown and Magnus was probably lamenting the state of a dinner that would have gone cold hours ago waiting for Alec to get home. He silently thanked the Angel for giving him such a patient man to love, and just in case, also asked the Angel for his protection when he eventually got home.

Jace stepped into the Consul's office without any of the antics from his previous visit. This was business.

"Dom and Matt reported in from Toronto. You were right to send them," Jace said, handing Alec some full-size colour photographs taken by the pair of Centurions as they kept watch over the entrance to the Court. Not knowing where else to start searching for the mystery Faerie, and wanting to know if anything else was brewing, Alec had dispatched them to the city with instructions to locate and observe the unknown warrior who bore such a strong resemblance to Sebastian Morgenstern. They were not to engage unless threatened.

Alec looked at the photos with growing unease. It was almost uncanny, except that he lacked those dead black eyes. While he was still examining the images, Jace broke in, "How are Cinder and Ria working out for you?"

"Hmm? Oh, they're everything you said they would be. I'm quite pleased with their service." His eyes flicked sideways to the panelling before returning to the photo in his hand. "Who's the girl?" He had never been attracted to women personally, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate her beauty. She was stunning, and one of the photos had caught her gold eyes perfectly as they regarded the Faerie warrior.

"No idea. Toronto didn't know either, said they'd never seen her, and that they would have remembered someone who looked like that."

"You know, she kind of looks like _you_ , Jace." Alec raised his eyebrows at his parabatai. "If she turns out to be another goddamn secret Herondale baby, I'm going put the lot of you in chastity belts and throw away the keys."

Jace laughed and winked at Alec, "I wouldn't say no to that for Aspen."

Alec smiled and nodded, "Don't worry, I think Hunter has had enough training to deter any unwanted suitors."

"It's not the _unwanted_ ones I'm worried about," Jace muttered. "But back to the photos. Dom saw her applying runes _with her bare hands_. As in, _no_ stele. What does that even mean?"

"It means," Alec answered calmly, "that we have new players on the board and they are both potentially dangerous."

The final photos showed the two cloaked in glamours that made them appear to be Faerie gentry. What was happening in the Courts? He had fought for so long to bring the Fair Folk back under the protection of the Accords, to mend fences and move forward, and now he found himself frustrated by the lack of information they had to work with. He looked up at Jace.

"Dig up some of the Unseelie artisans on contract in the city tomorrow. They may be our best chance at finding out what's going on down there before it bubbles over onto our doorstep."

"And these two?" Jace indicated the photos.

"We'll be watching for them. If these wayward Nephilim try to break into the Glass City, they'll regret it."

Rayce and Sera slipped through the southern entrance of Alicante unnoticed and disappeared into the winding streets of the Shadowhunter home city. Witchlight burned brightly from curving lampposts spaced along the canals and sounds of laughter drifted from the lighted interiors of some of the buildings they passed. They were both unfamiliar with the streets, but the Gard was clearly outlined on a hill near the back of the city.

Water lapped quietly at the walls of the canals as they slipped through the night. There were very few other people out after dark, and none of them gave the pair a second glance. Even Rayce's staff occasioned no comment in a city where nearly every citizen was trained to be a fighter. Sera hiked up the pack on her back and fought to control the emotions she was feeling as she approached the seat of the Clave, the source of all her mother's fear. Everything Meridian had done had been in the hopes that her daughter would never see these streets, never stare in wonder at the demon towers, never climb the hill to the Gard as she was doing now.

The doors were closed, but not locked, and Sera initially worried at the size of the building – how were they going to find their way around? Her fears were dispelled once they mounted the steps inside. The Gard was still the seat of the Shadowhunter government, and as such, neat signs pointed the way to various locations. Nephilim came from all over the globe to congregate here, and it only seemed fair that non-natives wouldn't be forced to wander around aimlessly.

Rayce spotted the arrow pointing up a wide staircase that read _Office of the Consul_. It was late for a visit, but they had to try. If they didn't have any luck here, the Consul's home would be easy enough to find.

The wide second floor hallway stretched out to either side of them, dimly lit by witchlight after hours, the gleaming wood floor reflecting back spots of illumination. Stylish leather couches were pushed back against the walls for Council members to sit in and confer between sessions. They followed the arrows around to the right and up another flight of stairs, this one more narrow. The third floor hallway had a wide strip of deep blue carpet running down the centre of the hardwood floor, and the wood panelling of the walls looked expensive.

They had walked half way down the curving hall when Rayce stopped in front of a closed door that bore a brass name plate simply reading, _Consul._ A strip of light showed under the door.

"Wait for me at the stairs," Rayce breathed in Sera's ear.

She started to protest but he lifted a finger to her lips and continued, "Watch my back."

She nodded slowly and then swung the pack around in front of her to open the top and let Rayce take the Seelie crown in his hands. He reached out unexpectedly and traced a finger down her cheek softly for just a moment, then turned back to the door, motioning for her to take up watch at the head of the last staircase.

Sera retraced their steps and disappeared around the bend.

Rayce exhaled slowly and then grasped the brass door knob and turned.

Alec looked up from his writing when his office door opened, expecting to see Jace back again, or perhaps a slightly angry Magnus. Instead, he gasped and pushed back his chair quickly to stand facing the mystery Faerie warrior from the photos, although dressed in Mundane clothes now instead of the white scale-mail armour.

"Wait, please," the Faerie said in a low, urgent voice, holding up his hands. He held an ugly iron circlet in his right hand, and Alec could clearly see the Soundless rune on his forearm.

"Who are you?" Alec asked.

"A friend of the Shadowhunters who has come to ask a great favour of the Nephilim," the warrior replied.

"Friends who come bearing gifts will find a better welcome than those who come seeking favours, and friends who provide names will find better still." Alec's blue eyes were challenging. Faeries would always evade questions they didn't want to answer.

"I am Rayce, and a prince of the Seelie Court. My mother was murdered by Unseelie traitors and the Fair Folk are being held at the mercy of the rebel leader, Malchezed."

Alec's mouth fell open. The Queen of the Seelie Court, dead? He would never forget his previous encounters with her; the cruelty she had shown while toying with Jace and Clary while they still believed they were siblings, the terrifying glimpse of his own aged body, her betrayal of their coming to Edom to find Sebastian.

A flicker of warning crossed his mind as he remembered that last betrayal, that it had come after he had put an arrow in another half-Faerie who had found lying to be advantageous.

"If what you say is true, why have you come? What favour does a prince of the Courts require of Shadowhunters? The Cold Peace forbids any contact with the Fey."

"You are their leader – if anyone could break the law, it had to be you, Consul," Rayce explained. He lifted the circlet and stepped forward to hand it to the Consul, but Alec recoiled a step, so Rayce set it on the desk instead. "My mother's crown. Malchezed would have forced a coronation tonight to claim its power for his own, but I was able to steal it from him before his plan could be carried out. It will only be safe here, in the city of the Shadowhunters, where the Fey dare not attack. I ask that you agree to keep it hidden until the Seelies can set their Court to rights once more."

"Your mother's..." Alec trailed off, looking at the crown as if it were a poisonous snake on his desk. His eyes narrowed at Rayce. "If the Seelie Queen was your mother, who was your father?"

Rayce's brows drew inward, and he took a step back toward the door unconsciously, the Consul's gaze as hard and piercing as the Seelie Queen's.

"Please, I'm only trying to save my people." Rayce's eyes pleaded with the Consul, but Alec could already sense the truth.

"Tell me your family name, Shadowhunter," he ordered.

Rayce closed his eyes and inhaled slowly before opening them again, fear wiped away behind the mask that his brother had helped him craft.

"Morgenstern," whispered.

Without warning, twin darts shot out from either side of the Consul's office and the wood panelling swung open to reveal hidden doors just as he heard Sera scream his name in warning from far down the hall. Both darts struck Rayce, one burying itself in his right shoulder, the other in the left side of his neck.

Numbness quickly spread down through his body from the darts as two female Shadowhunters closed the distance between the secret compartments and the intruder, and Rayce sank to the floor as the drug began to overpower his system. One of the women had her long dark hair in a tight braid, and the other had shoulder-length dark hair tied back in a low pony-tail.

Sera burst through the door armed only with the long knives she had worn under Risellea's dress, but she wasted no time in launching herself at pony-tail, blades flashing. The Shadowhunter was caught by surprise, but defended immediately, her forearms striking out to deflect the incoming blows.

Braid had joined in now, and Sera spun just before a baton would have crashed into the side of her head. She ducked under the incoming arm, dancing away to keep both of the women in front of her as they rushed back in. Flashes and images sparked in rapid succession across Sera's vision and her body responded without thinking, her steps just a heartbeat ahead of the attacks, her parries meeting those of the two women in just the right places. The weight of their combined attack was too much, though, and Sera was giving ground too quickly.

Pony-tail stepped out of the fight as Alec jumped over his desk to help, and she fumbled at her waist for a second dart to load into her blow gun. Sera slashed at the Consul, catching his forearm with a long cut that left a nasty gash bleeding there. Braid was now inside Sera's guard with that distraction, though, and her baton cracked across the blond girl's jaw just as pony-tail let her second dart fly.

Sera felt the dart hit her midsection and she doubled over, numbness spreading. She clapped her right hand down to pull out the dart, but Braid seized her wrists and spun her around, slamming her down into the floor viciously. The last thing Sera saw before she lost consciousness was Rayce laying unmoving beside her.

Cinder Whitescar was breathing hard when she whipped her braid back over her shoulder and turned to see the Consul where he was sagging back against his desk and clutching the slash on his forearm. She pulled her stele out of the cargo pocket of her gear pants and sketched a quick _iratze_ on him. Jace was going to kill her when he heard about this.

Her parabatai came up behind her, and she turned as Ria Ravenwood laid a hand on Cinder's back. The touch said, _we're okay_.

"Consul, I'm so sorry," Cinder began, the three white slashes of old scars that ran down her face standing out against her flushed cheeks.

Alec waved to cut her off. "No apologies, Shadowhunter. I should be thanking you for your quick action. Clearly, I was too trusting." He frowned down at the white-haired half-Faerie laying unconscious on the floor, and his unknown protector. He'd seen how she had fought against Cinder and Ria. There was something about it that hadn't seemed quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Take them down to the deep cells," he ordered. His forearm had already stopped bleeding. "I want this kept quiet. Tell no one about the attack or about these two. I'll deal with them personally."

The women nodded. Ria bent to lift the female intruder over her shoulder, and Cinder grunted as she hefted Rayce in a fireman's lift.

Alec sat back in his desk chair once they had left, deeply troubled by Rayce Morgenstern's tale. _Morgenstern_ , he whispered in his mind. When would the Shadowhunters finally be free of them? He folded his hands together and leaned his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his thumbs. Should he bring Jace in? After everything Sebastian had done to him 25 years ago? He closed his eyes. The Inquisitor? That could be an even bigger mistake. He could almost hear the faint echo of Sebastian's laughter from the past.

He sighed.

 _What do I do?_


	14. Chapter 13

_**13**_

Alec looked up when his office door opened again and he was relieved to see Cinder and Ria returning instead of any more unwelcome visitors.

"The prisoners are secure," Cinder reported, and then she looked to her parabatai.

"A search of their belongings didn't turn up anything of note except this," Ria said as she handed the Consul a fat notebook bound with elastics to keep it from falling apart. "I found it in the inside pocket of a jacket stashed in the pack the woman was carrying. We left the rest of their stuff down there to avoid raising questions."

Alec nodded. "Good. I've already sent a fire message to Dom and Matt; they should be returning through Toronto's Portal any time now. Ria, I want you to meet them when they come through and take them down to keep an eye on those two. One inside, one outside, I don't want any mistakes. Cinder, you'll stay here in case there are any other intruders."

Both women inclined their heads briefly and turned to carry out his orders, Cinder vanishing behind the panelling again while Ria headed out to the Gard's Portal to await the arrival of the Centurions.

Alec turned the notebook over in his hands, the green leather cover showing heavy signs of wear. Pages were sticking out, either where they had come unbound and been shoved back in, or where they were sheets torn from other sources and stuffed in here. He should still have plenty of time before the drug in the darts wore off and allowed him to interrogate the prisoners himself – perhaps he would find some answers here in the meantime. If nothing else, it would give him time to think about his next course of action. The Morgenstern name could still cause explosive reactions in the city, and this situation needed to be dealt with carefully. Everett Whitelock was always on the lookout for any opportunity to tear Alec down; this had the potential for far-reaching effects.

He took off the elastics that were holding everything together and opened to the first page. The writing looked hurried, loops rushing into each other, and parts were scratched out. It looked like it had been written by a woman's hand, and Alec proceeded under the assumption that it belonged to the blond who had attacked him.

The writing was jumbled and confusing, and it took Alec several minutes before understood that what he was holding was some sort of dream diary. He flipped forward and back, looking for some sort of rhyme or reason to it, but it didn't follow any organizational system that he could discern. None of the entries were dated. The order was interrupted by the pages that had been shoved in and added here and there. Sometimes she only wrote a few lines, fragments of dreams that ended abruptly, but in other places she had written pages and pages of detail. Without a true beginning or end, Alec decided he would try to read one of the more complete sections.

He was flipping through the pages, looking for a likely place to begin, when a familiar name caught his eye in one of the longer sections. He scanned the surrounding sentences, tracing backwards, and he felt his eyebrows climbing up unchecked. He turned the pages back, searching for the start of this dream.

 _I dreamed about my father again tonight, but this time the way he was before my mother knew him as Ahren Castledown. I almost felt as if he were speaking to me, trying to help me understand where I had come from. Mother never spoke of him – she always said it was too painful for her to remember. I think I saw this dream through his eyes._

 _The dream started slowly, like watching an old television coming to life, the pictures illuminating from behind with a flickering quality. The image of a warlock with green, lizard-like skin flashed past and I felt fear, then rage, then helplessness. I felt like I was trapped in an iron prison, the walls pressing down on me until I couldn't breathe. It was absolutely terrifying – I couldn't move, couldn't escape. I laid in darkness for what felt like centuries. I felt like I had been buried alive and forgotten by everyone._

 _It seemed like ages passed, and then something about the prison felt different. Pieces of images broke through of a girl with thick, wavy brown hair and blue-grey eyes. I was connected to her somehow. She was precious to me, as nothing had been before. I felt new strength that I hadn't had in centuries, and when danger threatened her, I was able to summon the tiniest fraction of my strength to defend her from harm._

 _In a flash of fire, I was free! The girl was there, and I felt such compassion for her. She had taught me so much of what mortals feel when they love; how could I ever explain it to her?_

 _Years flickered past incomprehensibly, the sights of Heaven not meant for mortal eyes._

 _A terrible wrenching feeling tore through me then, and when I opened my eyes I was looking at a young man with a shock of white hair and a thirst for knowledge that could not be quenched. I endured in silence as he tortured me for information about my brother Raziel, about where the Mortal Mirror was, and I listened without comment as he vented his frustrations about the perceived shortcomings of the Nephilim. So much anger for one man._

 _When I would not give him answers, he took my blood forcibly. It was years before I could see what he had done with it, and a new connection with a little girl bloomed within my ruined body. I tried to send her visions, but they fell on blind eyes._

 _Years passed in solitude until two children came to find my prison, the dreams I had almost given up on finally reaching the girl. I shared some of what I had seen with them, but I was so weakened by my long incarceration that I could do no more. The boy who bore the stamp of Heaven in his features gifted me with a seraph blade named for me, and I plunged it into my breast to end my suffering._

 _Freed from my earthly prison, I was returned to the gates of Heaven. I rejoiced at the sight of them, but they were closed. They would not open under my hands._

 _He who holds the keys to Heaven came to me then, in my despair, and raised me up. He told me that I had caused great sorrow by taking my own life, that there was a Plan for every life, and that I would be cast back down to the earthly realm to live as a mortal to atone for my sin. I had lost the grace of Heaven. Such a heavy sadness settled over me and I felt that I could not bear the loss, but the gates vanished and I awoke in the City of Glass among the Nephilim, glamoured with the appearance of a mortal._

 _The years passed slowly as I adjusted to my new life, and I immersed myself in the healing of a city broken by war, torn apart by its own people. The children were a wonder to me; that they could still laugh and begin anew amidst the ashes of their past. I took strength from them, finding time to watch over them as they played outside orphanages, their only refuge in a world where their families had been erased so abruptly._

 _I came to love one of the women who cared for them. Her smile was so pure, her love for the children so strong. Even though she shared no blood with them, she had made room in her heart for every child in her home. Perhaps it was loneliness that caused me to approach her on a beautiful spring day, or perhaps something much stronger._

 _The dream ended there, and I woke suddenly, disoriented by the change in perspective. I could still feel Ithuriel's sadness as my own. I had never known his name, but living that dream as him had given me new insight._

 _And what bitter insight it was. Was this the vaunted love of Heaven? To cast down an angel who had suffered so terribly and for so long? What happened to divine forgiveness? It fills me with so much anger. What became of my father after his mortal death?_

The entry ended there and Alec exhaled, drained by the account. An angel. Her father had been an angel. Not just any angel, but the same one who had changed Jace and Clary's lives forever. Jace had shared the story of what had happened in the hidden basement of Wayland Manor all those years ago; Alec knew it well. It would appear that the daughter had inherited her father's gift for prophetic dreams, and this diary was filled with them.

He flipped through again, looking for another unbroken section, his curiosity in overdrive. He needed to know more about this girl.

 _Today is the last day of my childhood._

 _I know that I can no longer stay with my mother, not now, not after what I dreamed last night. I only hope that by capturing my thoughts here I might lock them away._

 _The dream was washed with a blue haze, a dreary film that hung over everything I saw, dampening what would have otherwise been a bright summer's day._

 _My mother was driving along a highway toward a city, and I could see myself strapped into a car seat, no more than a year and a half old. Signs pointed off toward Niagara Falls, and my mother drove into the outskirts for the city, checking directions that she had written down before leaving. I don't know where she got the car – maybe a rental. Maybe stolen. I wouldn't put anything past her now._

 _The car stopped in a residential neighbourhood, mostly bungalows and split-backs built in the 70s. My mother parked in the driveway of one of the latter that looked indistinguishable from any of the others on the street. She took me out of the car seat and broke into the house through the side door, a rune of opening making quick work of the lock. It was awkward, juggling me and the dufflebag she was carrying, but she managed. The screen door banged shut behind us and she went up the four steps to the kitchen._

 _Ugly wooden cabinets hung over a yellowing counter top that had seen better days. A scuffed kitchen table was buried under a layer of old magazines and newspapers, and the scarred linoleum under the chairs showed where they had scraped back and forth for years._

 _My mother opened the dufflebag and pulled out a few plastic containers of tiny tarts and sweets, their bright colours incongruous in the shabby kitchen. She rummaged through one of the cupboards near the sink and came up with a teapot, kettle, and mugs. She filled an infuser with tea leaves from her bag while the kettle came to a boil, and then she poured the water in quickly to begin steeping the tea._

 _A knock at the front door startled her, and her hands shook as she set the mugs back down on the counter. She went to let in the two people who stood on the porch, and I felt my heart sink when I saw them more clearly._

 _Parchment-coloured robes only mean one thing in the Shadow World, and the matronly woman wrapped in a long white dress bound tightly at her wrists and around her waist could only be an Iron Sister. My mother had brought me here, to this Mundane home, to receive the protective spells that all Nephilim children were blessed with. I know her well enough to understand why she had come so far and chose this place – she wanted to be certain that no one would connect us to our tiny cottage in the woods._

 _My mother welcomed her guests into 'her' home by their names, Sister Philomena and Brother Isaiah, and she apologized for the mess. I was babbling toddler nonsense to them. My mother let Sister Philomena pick me up, and I listened to them discussing the ritual that would take place. It was unusual for an Iron Sister to leave the Adamant Citadel, but I could feel something more between them, a relationship that my dream-sense could only hint at, but not pin down. Strange, too, for a Silent Brother to be so far from home when there were so few left after Valentine's attack on the Silent City._

 _They took me to the living room, faded army-green carpet flattened by years of foot traffic. Bare-foot traffic, if the greasy feeling and smell were any indication._

 _While Brother Isaiah and Sister Philomena worked over toddler-me, I found myself drifting toward a TV unit on the far wall where there were a few family photos of the Mundanes who lived here. Mother probably should have tried a bit harder to disguise that this wasn't her home, but her guests were trusting to a fault. It made me wonder why they had agreed to this arrangement._

 _My dream flashed then and I found myself back in the kitchen. The ceremony must have been completed because my mother was pouring tea and insisting that Philomena try some of the pastries before departing, realizing belatedly that Brother Isaiah could not partake. She thanked them for their kindness in accommodating her here, and swore that she would be able to return to Alicante soon, casting a glance at toddler-me where I was still playing in the living room._

 _She clutched her mug tightly in her hands and forced a smile as she entertained the Silent Brother and Iron Sister. Even I felt uncomfortable in that stuffy kitchen, and only a few minutes had passed before Brother Isaiah rose to excuse himself, I assume._

 _Sister Philomena started choking then, her eyes watering as she coughed to clear her airway. She thumped her fist against her chest, gagging, and Brother Isaiah turned to her immediately. Silent Brothers are renowned for their skills as healers, and his instincts kicked in to help the stricken Sister. Philomena fell to the floor as he reached her side, her legs shaking uncontrollably, her back arching off the ground, and her head whipped back and forth as if denying what was happening._

 _Brother Isaiah had only just knelt down at her side when a knife from the kitchen block pierced his back, eight inches of stainless steel clutched in my mother's shaking hand. She yanked the blade out and stabbed him again, blood leaking onto the dirty linoleum._

 _Philomena was beyond hope now, her convulsions gone still, and Isaiah lay unmoving next to her. My mother dropped the knife and backed away, clutching at the edge of the kitchen sink and leaning over it as if she might be sick. She recovered herself quickly, though, and instead washed the blood from her hands._

 _Oblivious toddler-me looked up when her mother came into the living room, and I watched as she whisked me back out the side door and put me back into the car seat. My heart sank when she popped the trunk and pulled out the sloshing tanks of gasoline._

 _I watched in horror as my own mother torched the Mundane house, destroying all traces of our presence. She was already backing out of the driveway before the first flicker of flames were visible through the dirty front windows._

 _The dream ended, and when I woke this morning I felt like I could smell the house burning around the bodies of the Silent Brother and Iron Sister who had trusted my mother. The Clave might investigate, if there was a record of where they had gone, and the Mundane police would find no leads for the identities of the mysterious victims. Nothing would point back to Meridian Chasewell and her child nestled safely away far to the north._

 _Now that I know what my mother did, I don't feel as guilty as I usually do about the dream that I've had showing her death. If there had been a chance before that I might try to warn her, it's ashes now, ashes like the people she murdered. I've always suspected that she had been driven to madness after my father's death, but now I am certain. I'm horrified by what she did. Although I will not hasten her end, I won't try to prevent it either. Let fate decide. Everyone has choices. Everyone has free will._

Alec felt faintly sick to his stomach. The part of him that was Consul was prioritizing notifications to send to the Silent City and the Adamant Citadel to help them close these old files. The part of him that was a Shadowhunter felt a molten fury at the cold-blooded murders. And the part of him that was a father wept for the choices the girl had had to make.

In an effort to scrub away the images conjured by what he had just read, he turned blindly to a new page that looked like a more recent entry, the pages still crisp and flat, not yet curling with use.

 _More dead ends tonight. Zeke ignored my letter in this dream. When the Queen is killed, he collapses in their apartments, and Rayce rushes to his side, fear on his face. He can't rouse his tutor, and it doesn't take long for the Queen's magic to begin to slip away and the aging to begin._

 _This time, Rayce gathers up Zeke in his arms and flees from the apartments, running hard through the tunnels to bring him to the Seelie Queen. He's too panicked to notice that the guards no longer stand watch outside the Queen's apartments, he just bursts through the door._

 _Malchezed is within with Baelerithon. They both turn and looked surprised to see Rayce, but the Unseelie doesn't waste a moment. A clawed hand lifts, twisting sharply, and dark power pulses. Rayce is mesmerized and walks forward as if asleep, a moth being drawn toward a flame. Malchezed's claws reach out when Rayce is close enough and they spread across his chest as he stands hypnotized. I watched as those perfect green eyes turned as black as his brothers, no hint of an iris or pupil, just dead black._

 _The dream flashed and I watched Rayce hunt across both Courts relentlessly, a collared hound set to harry Malchezed's enemies and bring them down. He cuts down his half-siblings with as little mercy as the recalcitrant courtiers he dispatches, and anyone who dares to defy the new ruler of the Seelie throne is dealt with by its new executioner._

 _I tried tracing a different line where Zeke ignores my letter. In that one, when he collapses, Rayce rushes to his side but his tutor is still conscious. Zeke belatedly tries to tell Rayce about what I have written, urging him to pack quickly and run while he still has time. They waste time they don't have, Zeke trying to convince Rayce of what's happening, Rayce refusing to leave Zeke. It's only when Zeke begins to noticeably age that Rayce is shaken, and he rushes to pull together a few belongings before snatching up his staff._

 _Zeke pushes him away as his student tries to lift him, to carry him to safety, finally striking him a stinging blow across the face and shouting hoarsely at him to run. Rayce is hurt, I could see it in his face, but he backs away and unlocks the door of the apartments, still looking down at where Zeke is laying._

 _He's distracted by his worry for his tutor, and doesn't even see his half-sister Kylea, who has been waiting at the door with a half dozen of her Unseelie shadow assassin allies. The moment the door creaks open a few inches, she springs forward, leading with her enchanted batons. Unseelie whips crackle as they snap forward to snare Rayce, the shocks interrupting his ability to_ shift _away._

 _I couldn't watch as the blows rained down on him. I couldn't listen to the sickening cracks of Kylea's weapons. It's nothing I haven't seen before, but I couldn't watch it again. Another failed branch._

 _I don't know how many more times I can trace these chains looking for answers. My heart breaks with every failure, and I don't know what I am more afraid of: the day I can't put the pieces back together when I wake, or the day when I no longer care to. I_ will _save him. There's a way. I just have to keep telling myself that I must try once more, and then once more after that if I fail. I can't give up on him._

Alec sat back, disturbed by what he was reading. There was a lot more to these two than he could have possibly known. He believed the Morgenstern boy's story, now. It was too much to think that the diary was an elaborate hoax to corroborate his tale.

He idly turned pages, catching only fragments here and there. _Tonight I saw Rayce cloaked in darkness, turning his face away from me with a sad expression. I felt like I was losing him._ Another. _I don't understand what I saw this morning. Rayce was surrounded by mist and fog, talking to another Rayce in the brume. They were arguing, the dream spun faster and faster, and I couldn't tell which was which when it stopped._

One passage made Alec pause. _I saw the City of Glass perched upon a chain of volcanoes, molten streams running through the canals. The earth shuddered and the volcanoes erupted as one in a great gout of flame and lava. The city burned._

"Alec. Alec!" Magnus' voice snapped Alec out of a vision of his city's streets running with lava.

"Magnus." Overwhelmed by what he had read in the dream diary, he pushed back his chair and pulled Magnus into his arms, holding him tightly, and he felt some of his fears ease. A burden shared was a burden lessened.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? I was going to show you the remains of my dearly departed eggplant Parmesan, but I can see in your face that something more important has happened." Magnus' face softened as he looked at his husband's worried expression. Even after all these years, that spark that he felt when he looked into those indescribable blue eyes made his heart leap.

Alec summarized the events of the evening, careful not to leave anything out. He felt a bit of remorse for his decision to toss the two intruders into the deep cells, but the delicacy of the situation still called for discretion.

"I think we should go see them together," Magnus offered. "He won't be able to try any of his tricks with me around, and maybe we can learn more about what has befallen the Seelies. I can hardly believe that Sammaradriel is dead. Now we'll never settle our little dispute..."

Arching an eyebrow, Alec let the last comment pass. He had long ago dismissed any of Magnus' past flames as part of the past. They had no place in the life the two of them had built together with Max and Rafe.

He picked up the diary and hesitated for a moment. With a sigh, he opened the top drawer of his desk and slipped it inside, setting it on top of the video stills and photographs of the pair. He locked the drawer and rounded the corner of the desk to follow Magnus out of the Consul's office.

It was time to get some answers.

A dull throbbing in her jaw woke Sera from the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness. As she returned more fully to herself she felt a numbness in her hands where they were chained overhead, and she opened her eyes and looked up to see what her situation was.

She was hanging back-to-back with Rayce from long lengths of chain that ran down from the high ceiling of the circular room. A fire burned in a hearth to her left, and she locked eyes with a man who was holding a loaded crossbow levelled at her. He had short, dark hair and dark eyes that glittered in the light of the fire and the torches set into the walls. He had already marked her as awake and would be extra vigilant now.

Sera's head was swimming from the remnants of whatever drug had been on that dart. The room spun in and out of focus and she forced herself to assess the situation. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she knew they had to get out of there. The manner in which her hands had been chained worked to her advantage – her palms were together, and she immediately began tracing healing runes to take care of her jaw, then worked to cleanse her body of the drug.

Her options seemed fairly limited and bleak. She could unlock the chains with an opening rune, no problem, but she would promptly get a crossbow bolt in her chest for her trouble. She couldn't tell what type of chains held Rayce, but she worried that the Nephilim may have chosen cold iron as a precaution against the heritage made plain by the tips of his ears. Aside from that, he had been hit twice by the darts, and she had no idea how long it would take for him to wake naturally.

If she wanted to free herself from the chains, she had to take care of the guard first, and that meant trying to make something work that had been pretty spotty in the past.

Her eyes narrowed on the guard and she took conscious control of her breathing, matching each inhalation and exhalation to a set number of her heart beats. The Silent Brothers could do this without any apparent effort, but she was supremely unqualified to be a Silent Brother, as she was neither particularly silent, nor was she a brother.

The seconds stretched out into minutes as she continued to breathe and focus her mind on the guard. If he was uncomfortable with her intense scrutiny, it didn't show. Every fibre of her being was united in its desire to succeed, to be able to get them out of this cell, and she could feel heat radiating from her body as she strained to stretch her gift into this unfamiliar avenue.

Sera felt what she needed snap into place in her gut, a connection to her ability that ran deep, and she didn't waste another second thinking about it. The guard dropped soundlessly, a sleeping rune blazed powerfully across his neck. She gasped at the snap back of power that she felt, but she had no time to lose.

An opening rune followed one for soundless action, and she carefully brought down her arms from the chains above. Sera slipped her hands under the bottom edge of Rayce's shirt and set her palms over his hips, beginning the same process she had used to free herself from the drug's influence. Time ticked by and she could feel her hands trembling a bit, willing Rayce to open his eyes sooner.

"Sera..." he mumbled, and she threw her arms around him, jerking to a halt when the chains rattled above him. Her head snapped around to the great iron door set in the stone walls, but it remained closed.

"Can you stand?" she whispered.

He nodded tiredly in response, and she reached up to release him, helping to lift his arms down gently. Her hands slipped back under his shirt and ran over his body lightly, now trailing endurance, stamina, strength, and agility runes that were brimming with power. Rayce's eyes widened in surprise as new strength poured into his body. She pushed back the button-down shirt and it slid down, baring his arms so that she could close her hands around his shoulders and smooth her way down his biceps and forearms. Fortitude, angelic power, swiftness, sure-strike and accuracy spiralled out dizzyingly and Sera had to consciously draw herself back to the present and away from the feel of his body under her hands.

His eyes blazed in the firelight as he looked down at her and she let her hands trail away. He was shaking a bit, perhaps from all the pent up power he had running through his veins now. Sera turned away from him before she lost herself again, stooping to swing her pack back into place from where it had rested near the guard. She brought Rayce his staff and he took it in hands that were still trembling.

"I'm going to unlock the door," Sera whispered. "And then we need to _move_. We have to get out of the city, and we have to do it _without_ killing anyone, okay?"

Rayce reached up to stroke the side of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Anything for you, Sera."

She felt a flash of heat race through her body at his touch and she nodded, turning to the door and laying her palm against in. She counted to three silently with Rayce and then the door blew open. Rayce swept through like the wind, the blond guard outside the door not getting even a moment to react. The staff cracked across the side of the guard's head and he dropped like a stone, unconscious.

Sera followed swiftly, light on her feet as her own runes began taking effect. They glided along like jaguars at the hunt, angling upwards with the hope that it would bring them back to the main levels of the Gard so that they could make their escape.

They passed through an iron-bound wooden door and found themselves in the regular dungeons under the Gard. They were close now.

The door on the far end of the cell block clanged open and the Consul stood framed in the doorway with a warlock at his side. Both parties were equally surprised, and Sera bumped into Rayce where he had paused just as the air seemed to solidify around them and the warlock's hands glowed with blue magic.

"By the Angel, you two are more dangerous than I could have imagined," the Consul said, stepping forward toward the trapped couple. The warlock remained where he was, holding the binding spell tightly.

Molten fear crashed through Rayce as he thought of what it would mean if they were recaptured now. Of what they might do to Sera. The part of him that _shifted_ seemed to expand and tighten at the same time, arching like a cornered cat in response to the warlock's spell. He couldn't break through it.

 _I need to get out of here._ His mind raced. He felt the frustration building, the unfairness of the situation. That he should bear the weight of his fathers crimes. That he should be punished for what was done before he had even been born.

 _We need to get out of here_. Fear for Sera held sway over all the others that pulled at his heart. She had spent her entire life hiding from the Clave, and now he had dropped her right into the middle of it. She wouldn't be in danger if he hadn't brought them to Idris. He had to keep her safe, whatever the cost.

 _WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!_ His mind howled and connected with that _shifting_ part of who he was. Sera was still pressed against him from where the binding spell had held her after she had bumped into him, and he had only a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and mentally hold on to her as tightly as he could before they both vanished from sight.


	15. Chapter 14

_**14**_

Zeke sighed and gingerly pulled his blanket a bit higher with his right arm, carefully avoiding his left. He was laying reclined in one of the Queen's chaises, propped up on mountain of pillows to keep him upright while his collarbone healed from Kylea's savage attack. His ribs protested as he tried to shift his weight a bit and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"You should take care to be as still as possible, Ezekiel," Baelerithon's voice cautioned him from out of sight.

"My poor old ass isn't used to sitting around like this, Bael, and you know it. You could save me the trouble and heal me up a bit faster." Against his better judgement, Zeke tried to shift again and he felt his ribs flare in warning with molten anger. He lay back and panted shallowly. _Maybe later._

Baelerithon came around the edge of the chaise to kneel at Zeke's side, one blue-skinned hand reaching out to gently touch the old man's arm and ease his pain once more.

"I have told you before that we must be cautious. If I were to heal you too quickly, Malchezed may choose to separate us. While you remain broken and useless, you are beneath his notice, and so he permits me to care for you with the hope that I may be distracted from finding a way to prevent him from taking the throne." Relief spread through Zeke and a numbness settled over his injuries once more.

"Broken and useless? I'll show you broken and useless once I can get off this damn couch." A wave of tiredness washed over him as Bael's magic began to take effect, but he fought it, wanting to find out if the prince knew anything about what had happened in the throne room the previous night. "Any idea where the thief went with the crown?"

Bael took his hand away and shook his head, concern on his face. "Nothing definite, but I was able to learn that a detail of guards in the Idris tunnel were slain. Their wounds were long, curving slashes. Two of them didn't even have time to draw their weapons, and another was killed from behind. It would take someone possessed of extraordinary speed or... talent... to so easily dispatch four Faerie knights." He cast a meaningful look at Zeke.

The old Shadowhunter understood immediately, and a smile crept across his mouth. "That's my boy," he whispered. "But Idris?" he continued in a more normal tone. "He had better stay far away from the Clave; they won't welcome any Morgenstern son with open arms, and certainly not one with Seelie blood and the start of a war in his hands."

The prince nodded in assent and rose to take up a more comfortable chair facing Zeke's. They had been imprisoned in the royal apartments once Kylea had returned with the badly-beaten Shadowhunter. It had taken considerable skill and persuasion for him to be allowed to tend to the old man. Many had been in favour of killing him outright now that he was no longer protected by the Queen, but Baelerithon had convinced Malchezed that it would be a poor idea to kill Rayce's beloved tutor so long as he remained absent from the census. Whatever else he was, Rayce was still a prince of the Courts, and if he could be returned to the fold peaceably, it was worth the life of a single used-up Shadowhunter.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I think we both know my brother's abilities quiet well, and I do not believe that he could have done it alone. If someone from the Clave is helping him, it would stand to reason that they would be welcomed into Alicante with open arms."

Zeke's mind flashed back to the letter written by the girl. Sera? She hadn't given a family name. But she had said that the Clave didn't know that she existed, and she wanted to keep it that way. He shook his head at Bael.

"No, not someone from the Clave, but still a Shadowhunter. An unusual one." Zeke told the prince about the letter, how it had correctly predicted the death of the Queen and urged Zeke to get Rayce out as quickly as possible once he was no longer bound to the Court. He couldn't read Bael's face as he told the story, the prince retreating behind a mask that revealed nothing. When he had finished, Bael didn't respond, lost in thought.

"What do you think, Bael?" he asked.

The prince was silent for a few more moments, and then a smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. "I think that any unknown players on the board can be a threat to those who think they are controlling all the pieces."

"Oh, yeah. This will really piss off Malchezed!" Zeke laughed. "Whoever she is, if she and Rayce were the ones that ruined his coronation, I think I'm already in love. She's got fire, that one, mark my words!"

Bael smiled pleasantly as Zeke laughed himself out, the Shadowhunter numb to the pain that his mirth should have been causing him. His mind spun as he wondered about what sort of dreams this girl had had, and how much she might know.

"So how does the bat-goat take the throne now, without the crown?" Zeke asked once he had recovered himself.

"He can't," Bael answered. "He was already limited by his Unseelie heritage. That crown was forged and enchanted specifically for those of Seelie blood, but it can be bent to his uses only if bequeathed by the heir to the throne." The prince laughed bitterly. "I suppose I should thank my brother for delaying the coronation; it seems unlikely that Malchezed would have allowed me to live much longer once it was complete."

"What if your mother hadn't named an heir?"

"Then any of her sons or daughters would have been able to perform the binding for an Unseelie to take the crown."

"But now only you can give him what he needs?" Zeke's eyes widened. He had been wondering why Bael was spared when so many of the Queen's children had been struck down by the Unseelie warriors.

A small smile quirked up the left corner of Bael's lips. "Yes, and I can't say that that pleases Malchezed very much."

"If you had the crown back, couldn't you just take it for yourself? Bind it for your own use and then clear the lot of them out?"

"It would be very easy for a Seelie heir to complete the binding, moments only, for we are born to it, but I am still only one man, Ezekiel. Even with the crown's power, I cannot fight the combined might of the Unseelie."

"You seem to know an awful lot about the crown, Bael." Zeke observed, his eyes studying the prince.

"It is a Crown Prince's duty to know the protocols for succession, Shadowhunter. My mother placed her trust me in me to secure the throne if she were to pass from this life, and I don't intend to fail."

Zeke grinned. "Then I guess we'll have to hope that Rayce has a few more tricks up his sleeve."

Sera woke groggily, disoriented. She pulled her left arm out from where it was pinned awkwardly under her and then pushed herself up to her knees. She appeared to be in some sort of alley that smelled of cat pee and canal water. Sera wrinkled her nose and looked up to the sky between the walls. Dawn was breaking, and she hoped that meant it was still the same day. The morning air was still cool in the shade between the buildings.

Her thoughts flashed back to the moments before she had blacked out and her head snapped left and right, searching for Rayce. No sign of him. _How did he get us out of there?_ She could only guess that like her, he had been able to take his ability farther than he ever had before. The memory of the crushing, suffocating feeling of _shifting_ with him made her feel sick and she hunched back over, dry-heaving on an empty stomach. She was pretty sure the last thing she had eaten might have been a grilled-cheese sandwich, but she had a clear recollection of packing some food before leaving Seraphine's condo.

The urge to eat was outweighed by her need to find Rayce. The canals would suggest that she was still somewhere in Alicante, and if she found him quickly they could still slip out of the city before it really woke up.

Taking no chances, she reapplied her glamour rune, making it strong enough to hold against those with the Sight. She left the alley, walking casually in the early light and poking around the streets nearby. Still no sign of him. Sera felt a tendril of fear start to curl in her gut.

She found a quiet step on the side of a building to sit down. She needed to think. Opening the flap of the bag, she pulled out a bag of surprisingly intact crackers and then reached deeper to find her jacket. She couldn't tell if it was the early-morning air that was making her cold, or the worry that continued to grow for Rayce.

Sera shrugged into the familiar leather and felt a measure of comfort in it as she zipped it up. She leaned forward again to think but was distracted by a strong sense of wrongness. She forced her mind to zero in on it and then slapped a hand against the jacket in horror. Her notebook was gone! _No!_ They must have searched her stuff while she was unconscious.

If she had felt sick with worry before, it was doubled, no, tripled, now. The Clave would find out all about her. And the things they would find in those pages... She could practically feel her Mnemosyne rune burning as her mind flickered through every dream she had ever written down in that book. _Idiot!_ She didn't know if she was cursing herself or the Consul now.

Even knowing that she hadn't seen it when she had pulled out the now-forgotten crackers, she thrust her hand back into the pack. A stele and a witchlight stone passed under her groping fingers, and a lump that confused her. She seized it and pulled it out. Rayce's white gauntlets.

The faintest hope of an idea bloomed in her mind as she closed her fingers around them and applied a Tracking rune to the back of her hand. She poured strength into it and waited.

Nothing. _Dammit. The arm band._ Sera wanted to howl with frustration. She was having a colossally bad morning.

Bells rang out across the city and Sera threw the gauntlets back into the pack and swung it back up onto her shoulder. From the street she had a clear view of the demon towers glowing red and gold, the sign for all available Shadowhunters to get the Gard immediately, ready for battle. _Oh my god, did they find him?_

She broke into a run, her boots pounding down the cobblestone street back toward the Gard up on the hill. Other Shadowhunters emerged from their homes and Sera was soon lost in the mix of people hurrying to answer the call of the towers.

A crowd had already gathered outside the Gard, alert Shadowhunters whispering to each other and speculating about what had called them here, wondering if there was a demon threat to the city. Sera stayed to the back of the gathering, doing what she could to avoid notice to ease the strain on her glamour rune. She refreshed the one she had applied earlier, feeling it pull on her energy. She would need to get out of here soon, but not without finding out whatever she could.

The Consul came through the doors of the Gard, followed by the warlock they had run into down in the prison block, a blond man, and the two women Sera had fought. She edged behind the man in front of her, hiding her face even though she knew she was glamoured with a false appearance.

"Nephilim!" the Consul called to settle the crowd, and the noise quickly died away. "I have called you here to begin a search for two Shadowhunters who may be in the city. They are wanted for questioning, and should be handled with extreme care." He nodded to the warlock next to him. Blue light flickered from the warlock's hands as he raised them, and then large images of Sera and Rayce rippled into view above and behind the Consul.

 _They haven't found him_. Sera was almost staggered with relief, and she didn't even hear the Consul as he began to divide the gathered Shadowhunters into search parties to comb the different parts of the city and the surrounding countryside. With some of her fear dispelled, she felt a calm space open in her mind and immediately pounced on it, taking a tight rein on her ability and trying to force it to see Rayce. Her sight wasn't Tracking; it should work.

Her face relaxed as her vision doubled, the crowd of Shadowhunters milling around in front of her fading into the background as an image of Rayce superimposed itself over it. He was standing at the edge of a lake that was shrouded in early morning mist and a touch of fog. _Lake Lyn?_ _Did he make it all the way back to where we started?_

The vision shattered and she drew in a shaky breath. He wasn't in the city, that much was clear. She needed a way out, and the best way to do that would be to hide in plain sight.

Sera edged forward, her ears pricked to hear the directions being given by the Consul. She heard him direct a group of four to the Armory, and then he began assigning groups to the cardinal points outside the city. She drifted into the edge of one group as they were dispatched to the south, seeming as if she had been a part of their team all along.

There were five others in her group. Four men and a woman led the way back through the city, not speaking at all as they focused on the task at hand. Sera settled into place just behind the short woman with bright red hair and followed her, lost in thought. It would be much easier to ditch the group once they were out of the city, and she might even be able to convince them to further divide into pairs so that she only had to escape from one set of eyes.

Alec watched the last of the groups vanish and prayed that it would be enough. He, Magnus, and Jace had been discussing the pair for hours, the latter having joined them at Alec's insistence once he had returned to his office following the incredible vanishing act in the prison.

Magnus had been visibly shocked that they had escaped from his binding spell, insisting that it shouldn't have been possible, until Alec had gently taken his hand and told him that these two might be redefining what was and wasn't possible. Cinder and Ria had taken the unconscious Centurions to the infirmary wing to be checked out, in case they had been poisoned or otherwise ensorcelled. The fact that they were still alive gave Alec hope for the renegade pair, but he couldn't trust them quite yet.

He turned to go back up the steps into the Gard, with Jace, Magnus, Cinder and Ria following, when a figure pushed away from the wall near the doors. Short, dark hair winged with grey at the temples made Alec sigh as he recognized the Shadowhunter. Everett Whitelock. The Consul flicked his hand forward, indicating that his group should continue on to his office without him. Jace hung back, but Alec fixed him with a meaningful stare. _I can handle this._

After watching the others vanish inside, Everett shifted his dark-brown eyes back to the Consul waiting on the steps below him. Alec wondered if he could slap the man's stupid goatee right off his face, but then calmed himself. It wouldn't be wise to show emotion to his most vocal detractor.

"It seems as though you have a bit of a problem here, Lightwood," Everett drawled slowly, his Idrisian accent a point of pride that marked him as a son of Alicante, never raised in a Mundane city as Alec had been.

"It seems as though I'm working toward solving that problem, Everett, which is more than you can say. Why aren't you out searching with the teams?" Alec's blue eyes flashed in challenge, but Everett refused the bait, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the question.

"It looks like the boy has more than a bit of Faerie in him. Surely you wouldn't be involved in anything untoward with the Fey, now would you, _Consul_?" He used the title mockingly and Alec almost wished he had allowed Jace to remain. His parabatai could probably have punched out Everett with relatively few consequences, but it wasn't an option for Alec.

"I'm merely cooperating with a Centurion investigation into an incident that happened in Toronto. The Scholomance is, of course, permitted to investigate where the Fey may be involved, and while they have not yet determined what his heritage may be, they will be proceeding with caution." Not a word of it untrue, but a rather colourful blending of half-truths, since Alec had not yet shared Rayce's origins with Matt and Dom. He sighed inwardly at the games he was forced to play.

A sneer twisted Everett's lips and he started forward down the steps to leave, pausing to whisper in Alec's ear. "Be careful of the webs you weave, Consul, or you may find yourself caught in your own lies before you know it."

Alec let him go, refusing to show his anger. Jace had been right; Everett was growing far too bold. He shook off the encounter and headed back inside. They needed to untangle the mess that had been dropped on his desk last night.

Brocelind Plain stretched out in front of Sera, the gates of Alicante behind her, and she almost sighed with relief to be free. It had been nearly an hour since the demon towers had lit up to call the Nephilim to the search.

One of the men in her group went right along with Sera's silent hope, pairing himself off with one of the other men, and putting the two women together before assigning each of the three new pairs a different tangential spoke for them to follow as they searched away from the city.

"I guess it's just us girls now," the little red-head said to Sera as the other two pairs moved away.

Sera nodded silently, unconsciously reapplying the glamour rune to renew its strength. She wouldn't need it for much longer, but it couldn't hurt to be safe. Once they were far enough out, she could brush a quick sleep rune on her partner and leave her to snore in the grass while Sera made her way back to the Lake. The search parties weren't going to get out that far; she would be out of their range soon.

The pair were striding easily down one of the grassy hills when the red-head stopped and brought Sera up short.

"You can drop the glamour now, hun," she said simply.

Sera blinked. _What?_

"If you think that I can't recognize strong rune magic when I see it, then you have no idea who you're looking at right now." The red-head set her hands on her hips and looked up at Sera in challenge, green eyes staring out of a freckled face.

"Oh, come _on._ I'm Clary Herondale, and I'm willing to bet you're one of the ones we're supposed to be looking for. If I was going to turn you in, I would have done it without all the walking, okay?"

Sera shook her head wordlessly, her mind racing to decide if she should just try to grab the woman to slap a sleep rune on her anyway and make a run for it, but there was something in her tone that made Sera stop. Understanding? She exhaled slowly and then cancelled her glamour rune, revealing her true appearance.

Clary's eyes widened and she whispered in awe, "No stele." Sera swallowed, not knowing what to say, but Clary continued, "I've been trying to work out how the Silent Brothers do that for years. I was so certain that a regular Shadowhunter should be able to manage it, too. How is it possible?" Never mind that Sera was alledgedly a dangerous criminal wanted by the Clave, the scholar in Clary just wanted answers.

"I'm... not a regular Shadowhunter," was the best that Sera could come up with.

Clary regarded her with sympathy in her eyes and nodded in understanding. "No, I don't think you are. You must have been incredibly brave to stand in that crowd to join the search parties this morning, and I'm pretty sure I know where that kind of courage comes from. Are you in love with him?"

Sera's eyebrows flew up. The stories about Clary Herondale never mentioned that she could read minds!

"It's okay, hun," Clary patted her arm in a motherly way. "I know a thing or two about doing idiotic things to save the man you love. I think I'm actually the leading expert on the subject. Who is he?"

Sera hesitated. She knew exactly what Rayce's relation to Clary was, but how would she take it? Doubt made her bite the inside of her lip and Clary took her hands gently, saying, "You can trust me."

Sera drew in a deep breath. "His name is Rayce... and he's your nephew."

Clary's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "My nephew...? But... my..." Her eyes widened again. " _Sebastian,"_ she breathed.

"No, it's okay!" Sera cut her off before she could begin to draw the same conclusions as the Consul had the night before. "He's good, and kind and funny, and you can't blame him for what his father was like. Please," she begged. "You have to give him a chance."

"If my brother was his father, who's his mother? The image that Magnus conjured made him look part-Fey...?" Sera could see Clary's quick mind putting the pieces together. "Oh my god. The Seelie Queen." She covered her mouth with a hand in shock and waited for confirmation. Sera could only nod and watch as Clary squeezed her eyes shut.

"What's going on?" Clary asked.

Sera now felt confident that trusting her was the right thing to do, and so she began to recount the events of the past few days as quickly as she could, concluding with the flash of vision she had had that morning showing Rayce on the edge of what looked like Lake Lyn.

"But I can't track him properly while he has the arm band on – that was the whole point of protecting him with it. I just never thought about what would happen if we were separated."

"Maybe we need to try together," Clary suggested.

"Together?"

"If the two of us can't break your warlock friend's spell, then we'll need to think of something better. Get the gauntlets out again."

Sera opened the pack wordlessly and fished them out. She and Clary each clasped one hand around them and the older Shadowhunter pulled a stele out of the back pocket of her jeans, tip held poised over the back of her own hand. Sera covered the back of her right hand with her left and waited for Clary to nod. Together, they called upon their gifts.

There was a feeling of resistance, but it bent and then broke against the weight of their combined power. A vision bloomed in their minds of an unconscious Rayce being carried through a forest in clawed hands, and shaggy wolves circled the group, snarling.

"Werewolves!" Clary gasped as her eyes snapped open when the vision faded. Both women were panting a bit from the effort of breaking through Seraphine's enchantment.

The Tracking spell gave them a sense of where Rayce had been and in what direction he was travelling, but it wouldn't be enough unless they continued to follow and Track him – impractical for the amount of effort it would take to continue to break Seraphine's spell.

"Jace," whispered Clary. "If he can get to where we just saw Rayce, he can track him like a Mundane without runes." She started rummaging through her pockets. "Do you have a scrap of paper or anything so I can send him a fire message?"

Sera was bitterly reminded that she no longer had her dream diary, but simply shook her head.

"Then we'll just have to get to Herondale Manor. We're not far. I was only in the city because I'm looking after Simon's cat while he and Izzy are away on a recruiting assignment, but if the kids haven't managed to burn the place down yet, we can meet Jace back at home."

Clary turned south again and started jogging easily. Sera buried the fear she was feeling at the thought of Rayce in the hands of werewolves and hurried to keep up.

Rayce breathed in a ripple of water as it gently lapped against his face, and then coughed violently, woken abruptly from unconsciousness. He was laying right at the edge of the water on a shallow, rocky beach, and he pushed himself up painfully. Every joint felt like it had been rattled loose and he looked for Sera to ask if she was alright.

The beach was empty, save for himself.

"Sera!" He shouted, his voice echoing across the water. He shouted again and again, pausing to hear any response, but none came.

His clothes were soaked from the lake water, and he began shivering in the cool morning air, despite the hot flush that he felt in his face. He knelt down at the shoreline to splash some water on his face, hoping to cool it down, but his hands froze half way to the surface. Lake Lyn. _Poisoned!_

How long had he been laying there with the water trickling into his mouth? He spun around, almost losing his balance as he searched for some sign of the pack. He knew he had a stele in it if he could just find it. The rocks on the beach seemed to giggle at him and he shook his head.

 _Rayce._ He heard a voice whisper his name, and then more took up the call. _Rayce Rayce Rayce._ He whipped his head around looking for the whisperers, but there was only mist and fog. He tried to stagger backwards from the water, but only ended up on his hands and knees, at the edge, looking down into the lake. Part of his mind was clinging to the hope that his mixed blood would spare him from the worst of the poison. The Fey were said to drink these waters to see true visions, and it didn't seem to have any other effect on them. Which side of his heritage was stronger?

Rayce started to laugh, almost drunkenly. _Rayce Rayce Rayce,_ the voices continued to whisper, drawing closer. What was he? A prince of the Courts or a Nephilim warrior? He giggled to himself. A prince of the Nephilim! The voices laughed with him. _Morgenstern Morgenstern Rayce Morgenstern Rayce_.

His hands were submerged under the surface now and he was staring down into the space between them. The ripples of the water snapped flat, turning the water into a perfect mirror, and Rayce watched feverishly as images swirled to the surface.

 _Arynessa stands in front of a great mirror, her hands extended out to touch her reflection, and she leans in to look closer, a hungry expression on her face. Behind her reflection in the mirror there are two children almost lost in the folds of the long, pale pink dress that she is wearing. A girl-child of perhaps two years peeks out from behind it, her pale-blond hair and blue-green eyes staring back with a frightened expression. Nestled in the train of the gown is another child, an infant boy with the same colouring as what must be his sister. Their ears are slightly pointed, like Rayce's own._

 _The princess looks down at her gown, but there are no children in it on her side. A tear curves down her cheek as she stares back into the mirror at the children, though her reflection does not cry._

 _The perspective shifts a bit and Rayce can see that there is a man behind his sister, a human with brown hair and the same blue-green eyes as the children. He is bound in barbed chains, bleeding, whipped raw, and he is weeping soundlessly in the vision._

 _Arynessa turns to face him and her reflection turns to gather the children into her arms, the two moving independently now. A long, silver-handled whip appears in Arynessa's hand and her face twists with an unfamiliar rage._

The vision fell apart when Rayce lifted his hands out of the water to reach for his sister's face. He had never seen her like that. Sweat dripped from his forehead into the water and he splashed water up from the lake to cool himself off. His fingers pressed against his eyelids as he did so, and in the blackness, a second vision bloomed.

 _Baelerithon and Malchezed stand facing each other from either side of the Seelie throne and it's sprawling oak expanse is carved into a chessboard. Something about the players isn't right, and it takes Rayce a moment to see it._

 _His brother's beautiful, black raven wings have been replaced with tattered leather rags, and Malchezed's deep-purple hide seems almost blue in the vision. Bael holds a white knight in his hand thoughtfully as he searches for somewhere to place it while Malchezed moves swiftly to arrange the black pawns aggressively across the board._

 _Rayce blinks when he sees a white-handled dagger protruding from the Unseelie's back, and then gasps when he sees a black-handled dagger jammed through his brother's armour._

Rayce's eyes flew open in shock. "Bael..." he whispered. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted. His head was spinning as he fell onto his back, looking up into the fog that was rolling over him like a shroud. Figures danced and spun in the swirling brume and then resolved into an unfamiliar scene.

 _A snow storm howls across a frozen island nearly lost in an icy sea that tosses ice floes angrily over the crests of violent waves. White-veined black lightning crackles through the night sky, arcing downward to strike at a crude stone structure where torchlight flickers weakly in the gale._

 _Inside, two figures are chanting as they circle bloody runes on the smooth stone floor. The woman dances sinuously, her shining black hair fanning out behind her as she spins to reveal gaping holes where her eyes should be, but now only two great black serpents pour forth. The man is powerfully built, his flame-red hair contrasting sharply with black-scaled skin that gleams in the firelight. Their voices speak as one, the demonic words dripping from their lips as they circle faster now._

 _The flames of the torches flare sharply in response to them as each one passes now, adding an eerie pulse to the light that begins to feel all too much like a heart beat. The demon runes drawn in their blood begin to pulse darkly in time with the flames, and the voices lift higher and louder over the storm raging outside._

 _As the chanting reaches a fevered pitch, the pair cry out as one and another white-black lightning bolt shatters through the stone ceiling to strike the circle of demonic runes, electrifying each curving slash, searing them into the stone._

 _The two figures embrace and laugh together as the light fades from the room._

"No!" Rayce swiped his hand through the mist that was reaching down to kiss him in his delirium. _Rayce Rayce Rayce._ The voices were more insistent now and he couldn't laugh with them anymore. He tried to push himself to his feet again, but only got as far as his knees. The fog over the lake was heavier than ever now, but it seemed to be parting now, and a tall shadow was approaching.

Scarlet gear materialized out of the mist first, and as the figure moved closer, Rayce could make out white hair much like his own. The hilt of a black sword stuck up over one of the man's shoulders, and he thought he saw a pattern of stars flash in the murky light. Black eyes fixed on Rayce's deep green ones, and a smile twisted up the corners of a mouth identical to his own.

Rayce's heart was pounding away unchecked in his chest, his breathing racing to catch up to it, the fever burning through his body, and he could no longer force his mind to believe that this was only a hallucination brought on by the poisoned waters of the Lake.

"Father," he whispered.

Sebastian Morgenstern stood silently over his son and stretched out his hand to help him stand. Hands shaking, Rayce faced his father, the two identical in height.

"Son," Sebastian answered.

"Help me," Rayce nearly sobbed with frustration. The poison, the fever, his fear for Sera, the confusion of the visions that had given him glimpses of his siblings; it was too much.

"Help yourself," his father shot back. "What do you hope to accomplish here, in the nest of your enemies?"

"The Nephilim aren't my enemies."

"Are they your friends then?" Sebastian taunted, circling around behind his son's fevered body. He gently took hold of Rayce's shoulders from behind, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, "Friends who drug and chain you like an animal?"

Rayce shook his head stubbornly, trying to clear his head. There was no one here. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real.

"Not real?" Sebastian seemed to hear his son's thoughts. "My sweet, murdering sister was very kind; she laid my ashes to rest here rather than in the City of Bones. I might have been subdued by the powerful spells and runes there, but I have no such constraints placed upon me here. Even the ashes of Shadowhunters hold great power, and what Shadowhunter was ever more powerful than me?"

Rayce continued to shake his head, refusing to believe, and he felt his father's fingers tighten on his shoulders and force him back down to his knees. Sebastian whipped around, a scarlet blur, so that he could kneel down in front of his son, clutching his shoulders anew.

"You can't deny your blood, my son," he hissed. "It's in your veins and in your heart, and so, too, am I."

"You aren't my family," Rayce breathed. "It's Zeke and Arynessa and Bael who made me who I am."

"Oh, no, Rayce. Your mother and I made you what you are, and its past time that you accept the power of your birthright. You were not born to stand in the shadows of your lying siblings."

"They love me," Rayce slurred.

"They love to use you," Sebastian snapped, catching his son's chin with his right hand to force him to look into those black eyes as he continued. "The Fey hate you. How long have Faerie warriors paid for the chance to cut you down? Why did you live your entire life locked away like a precious treasure to take out and admire from time to time? You have no place in the Courts. You have no place with the Nephilim. The only place you will have is the one you carve out for _yourself_. In blood."

Rayce's thoughts were slipping away like water in a sieve and his head fell forward weakly until his father brought it back up with the grip he held on his son's jaw. A flash of gold flew across his memory.

"Sera!" He gasped. "My place is with Sera."

"And both of your worlds will hunt her now. What would you do to protect her?"

"I'd die for her," he breathed, head lolling again as he struggled to remain upright.

"No, you'll do much worse. You'll live." Sebastian laughed darkly and let go of his son.

Rayce fell back onto the rocky beach, utterly exhausted and spent. His father's hand traced down the side of his face gently and some of the spinning slowed. He felt Sebastian take his right hand and fold it closed to lay across his heart.

"It won't be long until they find you," he whispered to his son before rising and stepping back.

"Who...?" Rayce breathed into the empty air.

Low growls and snarls sounded from the trees around him and darkness tugged him away from consciousness as clawed hands closed around his body, not noticing where the Morgenstern family ring now gleamed darkly on Rayce's right hand.

 _**Author's note: See City of Heavenly Fire, page 649, to see where the Morgenstern family ring was consigned to the Lake._


	16. Chapter 15

_**15**_

Herondale Manor rose into view as Clary and Sera crested the last rise before the land dipped away. Deep green ivy climbed the regal stonework of the three-storey home, and framed the arched doorway where a dark mahogany door stood gleaming. Sunlight flashed off the rows of windows bracketed by white shutters. Sera could see a paddock off to the left, and what was probably the roof of a stable, but the right side of the mansion proudly displayed a gorgeous glass conservatory that looked much newer than the original building.

"Thank the Angel, it's still in one piece," Clary said, shooting a wry grin sideways at Sera. "On the outside, at least."

The two women crossed the grounds to the main entrance and let themselves in. The inside was done in luxurious dark wood that had a heavy, antique feeling, and was very much unlike anything Sera was accustomed to. Clary guided Sera off to the right, and the younger woman couldn't help but stare at the beautiful furniture and framed artwork – it felt like one of the buildings that a city's historical society was always fighting to preserve.

A double set of glass French doors opened under Clary's small hands and she motioned for Sera to step into the conservatory that she had seen from outside.

"I'm just going to grab us something to eat, I'll be right back," Clary said.

Glass walls soared upward, enclosing a spacious art studio. A baby grand piano was tucked into one of the corners, and easy couches were gathered around it for impromptu recitals. Easels with canvasses in various states of completion dotted the floor, and Sera was amazed at the landscapes that were taking shape on them, each one exquisitely detailed with obvious care.

Clary drew down the thin wooden blinds on the French doors when she returned and invited Sera over to sit on one of the couches by the piano while she scribbled a note on a scrap piece of paper. When she had finished, she sketched a quick rune at the bottom and the message vanished in a flame.

"We have some time before Jace gets back," Clary said, joining Sera on the couch and pouring them some iced tea from a pitcher. A plate of fruit and veggies accompanied the pitcher, along with a bowl of what looked like ranch dressing. Clary tried to apologize for the hasty snack, but Sera laid into it hungrily.

Sera nodded and then gestured with a carrot stick at the glass ceiling and walls. "This place is so beautiful."

Clary smiled. "After we moved here from New York, the manor needed a lot of work. No one had lived in this place for over two decades. Once we got the main parts of the house fixed up, I knew I wanted somewhere with some proper _light_ – so much of the house is heavy and dark. Back then, everyone was hiring Unseelie artisans after they had finished rebuilding the city, and I wanted to support them in any way I could. The Cold Peace was a terrible mistake.

"I just wish that we were around more often to enjoy it. Jace teaches on an off at the Scholomance, and I've been spending more and more time on Wrangel Island studying the wards. Helen and Aline are absolute treasures – they've turned exile into opportunity."

"What do you mean?"

"Wrangel Island is the seat of the world's wards," Clary sketched in the air with her hands, drawing invisible lines around an imaginary globe. "Those wards are ancient. They protect our world from the demon realms. They're anchored on Wrangel Island. When they were first conceived, it's generally accepted that they prevented demons from remaining in our world for any appreciable length of time; only the strongest demons could manage more than a few hours.

"Some time around 1000 A.D, Lilith and Sammael combined their power to perform a demonic ritual of a singular nature that fractured the power of the wards while strengthening the demons of the void at the same time. The increase in demonic activity is what eventually prompted Raziel to create the first Shadowhunter to protect the Mortal plane.

"Helen has spent the last 25 years combing over the site where the wards are tied, painstakingly mapping out every rune on that godforsaken rock of an island. The work is slow because of the conditions up there – ice and snow are kind of a permanent fixture, and it's hard the get down to the surface. But if you can't go anywhere else and have nothing else to do... she's determined to own her lot in life. If she can give it purpose and meaning, then it's not a punishment; she's making it her own choice.

"No one has ever tried to do what she's doing. Who would? For any other Shadowhunter, a trip to Wrangel Island is a two-week trip to be endured and then forgotten. A few years ago she made a discovery under what looked like a collapsed structure of some sort."

Sera leaned forward and refilled her iced tea, caught up in the story. It was one thing to read about the Incursion in the Codex, but those were old, dead words.

Clary took a sip from her own glass and continued, "It took her and Helen a while, and no small amount of help from some frozen warlocks, but they were able to shift the rubble away. They uncovered a scarred, burnt area of rock covered with blackened markings. They were demonic runes painted in demon blood and burned into the stone with black magic.

"Understandably, they were excited about the discovery, and sent word to Idris at once." Clary shook her head bitterly. "Alec immediately authorized further study by Shadowhunters, including several very interested Silent Brothers, but the Council reared up in opposition. They spent weeks debating the issue, and the loudest voices spoke against any teams being sent, Everett Whitelock loudest of them all.

"He argued passionately that Helen couldn't be trusted, that a disgraced half-Faerie Shadowhunter was the last person the Council should be listening to. He dismissed their findings as irrelevant, saying that the Incursion was a millennium past, and that there was nothing further to be gained from studying demonic runes, save that perhaps it would lead to corruption in our ranks." Clary sighed. "He has also made no secret of how he feels about Helen and Aline being married, and he's exceedingly vocal about Alec and Magnus; I think it's even worse in his eyes because Magnus is a warlock.

"The whole thing is ridiculous. Everett is the worst kind of bigot, and he spreads his hate and engages in fear-mongering to distract from his true goal. He wants things to go back to the way they were, not just before the New York Compact, but before the Accords themselves, probably. He's all about Shadowhunter supremacy, and he sees the increased cooperation with Downworlders as the beginning of the end for his upper-class entitlement," she snorted. "He would have _loved_ my father."

Sera shook her head. "Why doesn't someone do something about him?"

Clary arched one fiery eyebrow at her. "Heavens, you sound like Jace," she laughed for a moment before continuing, "The main problem is that Alec didn't squash this when it was still getting started. He wanted to take the high road, and refused to give Everett the satisfaction of seeing that someone was paying attention to his shenanigans, confident that everyone would see what an idiot Everett was. But people drifted toward Everett and started listening to his poison. There will always be someone who does.

"So now Alec is stuck in a pit of vipers that have grown too large and visible to, ah, _do_ anything about, and he spends half his time enduring all the garbage that surfaces every time he tries to make progress with the Council. The Consul serves the Council, not the other way around, and they are making sure that he is made very aware of that every day.

"While the Council was wasting his time, he quietly asked me to 'visit' with Helen and Aline – we had struck up a friendship before she was exiled, and we've stayed in contact over the years. I couldn't act as an official envoy of the Clave, but I could certainly _visit_ with my friends. Together, we've studied the cleared area until we were blue in the face, literally."

Clary rose and crossed the floor to a glass-topped desk on the opposite wall. She rummaged in one of the drawers until she came up with a hardcover sketchbook. She brought it back to the couch and opened it across their laps.

"This is what we've been focusing on," she said as she flipped to a two-page spread that was carefully drawn to show a bird's-eye view of a smooth stone surface covered in lines and lines of runes, some etched in adamas, and others scorched over top. Sera traced across the lighter lines, barely legible at this size, and felt a tugging in her heart. She felt like she could almost read them, and she felt her eyebrows draw in as she concentrated. The blackened scorches that defaced them were not just scorches, she saw, but instead looked more like some sort of demonic runes.

Clary was watching her intently. "Do you feel it, too? Like you should be able to read them?"

Sera nodded.

Clary exhaled slowly, "The way you do what you do... you have a gift for the runes, too, Sera. After all of," she waved her hands, " _this_ is over, we could really use your help up there."

The younger woman was startled by the offer. She'd never thought about what she would do what all of _this_ was over. And she'd certainly never thought it would be anything to do with the Nephilim.

Clary squeezed her hand. "It's okay, you don't have to decide now. Just remember that we're here when you're ready."

They had only a moment's notice as the sound of footsteps approached the shuttered door, and Sera snatched her hand back, clapping it to her forearm and applying a hurried glamour rune in an instant.

The door was pushed open by a teenage girl with burnished blond hair and luminous, golden eyes. "Mom, can Hunter and I have – Woah. Sorry." She drew up short when she saw the unfamiliar middle-aged woman sitting on the couch with her mother.

Clary shot a glance back over her shoulder where Sera had been replaced by a woman with brown hair that was shot through with strands of grey and who had kind, dark eyes that were locked on the girl in the doorway.

"It's okay, Aspen. I was just catching up with an old friend. If you and Hunter want more marshmallows for undisclosed reasons, the answer is still 'no'."

"No, it's cool, we're good with the marshmallows now – we got it figured out. But do we have any more mangoes or tomato soup around? I need to prove something to Hunter, and I want to make him suffer for doubting me when I show him he's wrong."

Her mother shot her a withering glance, "Honey, I think you might need to read the parabatai oath a few... hundred... more times before you guys go through with it. I'm _almost_ certain there's nothing about 'when thou makest a mistake, I shall torture thee with terrible menu options'." Sera should have smiled, but her gaze was still riveted on the girl in front of her as visions flashed by almost too quickly to register. _Fire. Night. Parabatai rune. Screaming. Boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Shattered glass. Flames. Wet grass._

"Yeah, I think you're right, but I should probably write that in before we take our vows! Great idea! Thanks, mom! Uh, sorry, ma'am," Aspen waved awkwardly at Sera and pulled the door closed, presumably to go mango hunting.

Clary turned back to Sera, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, she can be a bit- Sera?" Her eyes widened as she saw Sera still sitting up straight, eyes seemingly vacant, her lips slightly parted. Clary put her hand to the other woman's shoulder to shake her gently, and Sera snapped back to the present, blinking rapidly.

Her eyes found Clary's and she swallowed. "When the time comes, and you need help with her, I will come," she promised.

"I don't understand. What do you mean?" Clary's face was worried at the serious turn their conversation had taken.

"She's..." Sera hesitated, "Special."

Clary's face went smooth, hiding what she was thinking, but there was no point in trying to hide it from Sera, not now.

Sera took Clary's hand. "It's okay. You kept my secret; let me keep yours. I can't say anything more, it's too soon, but I'll try to watch over her in my dreams. I _will_ come."

It was clear that Clary was shaken by the unexpected warning, and she rose to her feet, taking her glass with her. "May I show you a bit of the grounds before Jace gets back?"

"Of course," Sera said sadly. Things had been going so well, but there was a slight distance now where there had been growing closeness. It was a reminder of why she had lived such a solitary life up until now, aside from her friendship with Seraphine. It was hard to get close to people and then see the chains of causality stretch into their future.

Sera scooped up her pack and the two women left the glass conservatory to stroll through the gardens quietly, Clary pointing out some of her favourites. By the time they had reached the stable at the other end of the manor Sera was wishing she had kept her promise to herself.

There were three fine horses stabled within the neat and clean stalls, ears pricked forward and eyes hopeful for a treat. The barn smell was unfamiliar, but soothing for Sera, and she reached out to stroke the white star on the forehead of the horse closest to her. She was still stroking the animal when Clary's head turned in response to the sound of an approaching rider.

Jace dismounted just outside the stable and walked a big bay gelding inside. "Clary, what's wr-" He caught sight of Sera standing near the star-burst horse.

"Everyone's fine, but I needed your help and I didn't want anyone else to know."

Jace was still watching Sera uneasily, casting a sideways glace at her while keeping his face turned toward his wife. Clary squeezed his hand and looked at her guest.

"It's okay. Sera, can you drop the glamour?"

In a moment, Sera stood revealed in all the glory of her shining hair and eyes, skin shimmering softly in the diffuse light. Jace's mouth fell open. Clary looked slightly affronted by the intense staring, and she cleared her throat. "We need to talk."

While Jace removed his mount's tack and started brushing down the gelding's coat, Clary filled him in on the events of the morning and what she wanted him to do for Sera and Rayce. Just as he was putting everything away neatly Clary finished, "Please, Jace. We have to help her before the Clave finds them."

"I agree, but you can relax a bit. Sera, I'm sorry in advance, but Alec read a bit of your dream diary." He saw her face fall, and he rushed to continue, "No, it's a good thing. He believes a lot more is going on than he knows. He could have used the diary to track you this morning instead of going through the sham of a search, but instead he locked it up. Only Cinder, Ria, myself and Magnus know that he has it. With two Centurions in the infirmary and Everett Whitelock sniffing around to find out why, Alec had to be seen doing something. We'll get to Rayce and get you guys out of Idris as soon as possible; it's not safe here."

"And my notebook? Did you bring it?" Sera's right hand twisted the bottom edge of her tank top nervously.

Jace shook his head. "No. Clary's note only said to come home immediately. I didn't even know why."

Sera's heart sank, but she accepted the book as lost for now. No use crying over spilled milk.

Clary crossed over to one of the walls of the stable and pulled out her stele from the back pocket of her jeans again. "I can Portal you to where we last saw Rayce. Do you already know the Portal rune?" she asked Sera.

"No, but I'd certainly like to," she answered.

"It'll come with a caution though, and I hope you'll heed my advice. When I made Portalling by runes a thing, it gave the Clave a massive advantage, and a massive headache. Almost 20 years ago, they paid a circle of warlocks rather a lot of money to have a sort of... map... that tracks runic Portal activity around the world, much like the one that watches for dark magic spikes. If you travel by Portal, you need to be aware that someone could be watching.

"I don't mind making this Portal from here because the Clave is kind of used to seeing me pop in and out, but going forward, you'll need to be careful when you decide to use it, okay?"

Sera nodded in agreement and then watched carefully as Clary pressed the tip of her stele to the wall and began to draw. She absorbed the shape of the rune easily, almost like remembering it rather than learning it, and then watched as the Portal opened.

Clary stepped back and nodded at Jace, who was checking his unusually stuffed weapons belt. She raised one red eyebrow at him and he raised his hands defensively.

"Your note didn't say _anything_. There could have been a hoard of demons or teenage boys. Either way, I came prepared to kill anything that moved, okay?" Clary shook her head helplessly and leaned forward to plant a swift kiss on his lips. Sera felt her heart lurch. _Rayce._

Jace stretched out one black-gloved hand to her and she took it before they both stepped through the shimmering surface of the portal.

She recognized the area immediately and watched as Jace crouched down to study the ground. He surveyed the forest floor carefully for a minute and then looked northwest. "This should be pretty easy. It's not exactly a stealthy group."

It was cooler in the trees despite the sun creeping toward its zenith above and the two Shadowhunters covered the ground quickly, Jace only pausing now and then to check the trail for any branches that might indicate that Rayce had been taken away by a smaller group. The pack stayed together, though, and the pair followed the signs deeper into Brocelind Forest.

Within an hour, Jace held out his hand to slow Sera at his side and he started to edge much further west than they had been heading. When he had judged that they had come far enough, he stopped behind one of the larger trunks and leaned in close to whisper, "We had to come in downwind of them. There's definitely a nest of werewolves in there. I hope you have a plan."

Sera nodded. "Give me a pair of seraph blades." Jace complied, giving her their names, and then she continued, "I'll go in with a strong _mendelin_ rune and get to Rayce. I can free him and then we can sneak back out. Simple is good, right?"

Jace looked doubtful. "I should be the one to go in, though."

"That'll be pretty tough without that _mendelin_ ," Sera said with a grin as she pressed her palm against her forearm and vanished even to Jace's Sight.

He shook his head in disbelief and muttered under his breath, " _Back-up._ I've been demoted to _back-up._ " He edged a bit closer under cover so that he could get a visual on the glen where the werewolves kept their lair.

Trampled-down grass was dotted here and there with the sleeping forms of wolves dozing in patches of sunlight that filtered down through the foliage. There must have been at least thirty or so, but Jace could see the opening of a natural cave that could hold even more. At the far end of the clearing, in a patch of shade, he could see Rayce sitting propped up against a tree trunk, chains wrapping around him and the tree. His head was slumped forward and he looked unconscious. There was no sign of Sera. Jace eased another pair of seraph blades from his weapons belt but did not name them, waiting for any sign of danger.

Sera crept through the glen of sleeping wolves carefully, Soundless runes contributing heavily to her stealth. She could see Rayce, and part of her was relieved to see the chains – they wouldn't have chained him up if he was already dead. She set her foot down lightly as she passed a hulking grey beast and left it behind with its snout twitching irritably.

Once she was in front of Rayce, she reached out to gently lay her hands over his collarbones, her fingers tracing down his neck. He was burning up with a fever, and she quickly focused her gift to begin healing and strengthening him once more. _This really needs to stop happening_ , she thought. The flush faded from his cheeks and he started to raise his head until one invisible hand slipped to the back of his neck in warning. He must have understood what was happening because he remained still as she continued to work on him, feeling her own strength beginning to ebb as she poured it back into him.

A breeze ruffled through his white hair, blowing it forward to almost brush against her face, and she heard a low growling start up behind her. She shot a glance over her shoulder and saw the grey brute had risen and was sniffing at the ground around himself, moving toward Rayce.

Jace saw when Rayce lifted his head slightly, and he knew that Sera had at least managed to reach him. He shifted uneasily as he waited for them to return. That chain looked awfully heavy... it was going to make noise when it dropped... One of the grey werewolves near the back of the clearing rose and starting casting around for a scent, snuffling closer to where Rayce was still chained, and Jace tightened his grip on the seraph blade hilts, rising slightly.

Without warning, the wolf let out a loud snarl and launched itself toward Rayce. The chains fell away at once, and then Rayce immediately _shifted_ away, letting the wolf crash into the tree trunk face-first.

Jace lurched to his feet.

"Oh yeah," he whispered under his breath. "Time for a little bit of Rampaging Duck." He named his seraph blades and then let loose an ear-shattering mad quack before charging down into the werewolf den.

Rayce scooped up his staff from where the wolves had tossed it, feeling the connection between man and weapon flare back to life. Sera materialized on his left, _mendelin_ rune cancelled, and they faced the rousing werewolves for an instant before they heard a god awful noise from the far side of the clearing and saw Jace come howling down into the glen, seraph blades flashing brightly. The werewolves were confused with the new threat, and they were split between watching either side of the clearing.

Sera laid her right hand over Rayce's left, and quickly said, "This is either a really good idea, or a really bad one." Rayce looked down as a rune appeared on the back of her hand and when she removed it, an identical one was emblazoned on his own. It was one he recognized from his history lessons with Zeke, but had never used. _Alliance._

She whispered names to her seraph blades and they blazed up in her hands. Her face drew in with concentration for a moment, and then she _shifted_ forward behind the nearest wolf, striking down at its unprotected back as she reappeared. Rayce's mind spun as he felt Sera's strength flooding into him, and he _shifted_ forward to fight at her side.

His vision blurred, and he saw an almost transparent image of a werewolf launching itself at his back. He whirled before the wolf had even left the ground and caught it easily with one edge of his staff, the silver scroll work along the blade hissing into the wound as he slashed. The wolf howled in pain as Rayce flashed around the side of it as it sailed by.

More wolves poured from the mouth of the cave, and Sera launched herself right into them, black tendrils of smoke rising from the air when she vanished, and Rayce was quick to follow. They fought together as if they had been doing so for their entire lives. Sera adapted to Rayce's gift seamlessly, having experienced it while in dreams she had had from his perspective. They were both shot through with the adrenalin of the fight, riding high on that special blend of madness that came when you were fighting for your life.

Werewolves snapped and snarled and tried to box them in, but they moved as one, evading every effort to trap them and slicing out with staff and seraph blade alike. Some of them began to slink backwards to retreat, but Jace was still carving through the outer ranks back there. Rayce caught a flash of a wolf swiping at the older Shadowhunter, and he immediately _shifted_ to his side to dispatch the attacker.

Jace whirled in confusion at the wisps of smoke that were all that remained to show where his unexpected ally had saved him. He caught sight of Rayce and Sera in the thickest mass of wolves and couldn't help but be distracted by the whirling, _shifting_ dancing they were weaving among the beasts. Flaring seraph blade and deadly staff whipped out of the swirl and wolves dropped dead and dying all around them, a veritable tornado of slashing death.

It was over less than a minute later, and Sera _shifted_ one last time to the edge of the clearing where she and Jace had parted less than ten minutes earlier. She fell to her knees and braced herself on her hands as she vomited violently. Rayce was at her side in an instant, his hand on her back, and she shook her head, "You can't be watching right now. I will literally die of embarrassment. Seriously. Please."

Rayce weighed the decision for a moment, and then _shifted_ back to the other Shadowhunter's side, his eyes resolutely turned away from Sera as she continued to donate her gently used lunch to the forest floor.

At that moment, a shooting pain in his temples sent him staggering to his knees and he clapped his hands over his eyes as if he could shut out the pain with his hands. He saw angry red streaks fill the blackness behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut.

Jace looked from one to the other, completely lost with what was happening right now. They had just dealt out the most bad ass ass-kicking in the history of Shadowhunters, and now one was puking her guts out and the other was laid out with what looked like the world's worst migraine. He felt more comfortable helping Sera, so he jogged back up to the edge of the clearing and crouched down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Sera looked up at him from her knees, her eyes a bit bloodshot, and she leaned back to sit on her heels, scrubbing the back of her hand across her mouth miserably. "Is Rayce okay?"

"I don't know. Does he normally lay like that without moving?"

" _Not_ funny, Jace," Sera huffed as she stood and went back down to where Rayce was still curled up. She knelt at Rayce's side and gently slid her hand over his, the Alliance runes already fading from such intense use. He uncurled at her touch and the pain faded away with the rune.

"What _was_ that?" he asked.

"Definitive proof that maybe that wasn't my best idea," Sera admitted ruefully.

Jace had caught up to them, and Sera made the necessary introductions for Rayce's benefit. Jace clasped his nephew's hand tightly and slapped him on the back while Rayce looked mystified by the unfamiliar greeting.

"Ah, look at us. Jace and Rayce. We sound like a morning show. 'It's 6 o'clock and you're waking up with Jace and Rayce live on 98.3FM radio!'" Jace waved halfhearted jazz hands at the pair and then dropped them when he saw the blank looks. "I'll admit it. Not one of my better ones. Let me think about it for a while."

"Mmhmm." Sera was checking over Rayce, looking for any injuries, but they had both come through the battle unscathed. Even Jace had managed to avoid being slashed or bitten, and Sera breathed a sigh of relief. Healing Rayce had taken a lot of energy, and using the Alliance rune to share her strength with him had really drained her, far more than she was willing to let on. Before she could comment on the unfamiliar ring he was now wearing on his right hand, Jace jerked a thumb back the way they had come.

"We should probably get out of here," he suggested, leading the pair back into the cover of the forest. When they had put some distance between themselves and the den of dead werewolves, he brought them to a halt and turned to face them. "What's your plan now? Where will you go?"

Sera and Rayce exchanged glances, but it was Rayce who answered. "We need to get to the Rift. I know that my sister is there, and she'll be able to help us. We'll be safe with her, but I don't think we can use the same entrance to Faerie that we used to get here – someone paid those werewolves to patrol around the entrance. "

Jace looked at him thoughtfully, almost nodding to himself.

"I know where the entrance to the Rift is on this side, but you'll have to swear not to tell Alec that I know. He doesn't appreciate me poking around this forest alone, but he also doesn't understand how _boring_ it gets living in Idris."

Rayce's eyebrows climbed up. " _You_ know where to find an entrance to the Rift? A Shadowhunter? You haven't tried to go _in,_ have you?"

Jace brushed it off with a wave of his hands. "Of course not. Do I look like I want to be crisped up for dinner?"

"And how would you know that's what happens?"

Jace opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. At least he knew when he was beat. "Come on, it's a long walk from here, and there's supposed to be a storm coming."

The sky darkened steadily with ominous clouds as the afternoon wore on and they hiked east through Brocelind Forest, crossing the river at a ford around mid-afternoon. Jace led them east into the foothills that led up into the mountains that surrounded Idris. He stopped at a natural shelter where an outcropping jutted out from a cliff wall and natural stones provided a windbreak. The first drops of rain splattered against the rocks as Jace spoke, "This is as far as I go with you. Follow the valley between these two hills and you can't miss it," he said.

"You're leaving?" Sera said incredulously.

"What, you didn't see that coming?" Jace winked at her as she frowned. "I've got to get back to Clary and let her know that you guys are okay. Just do me a favour and wait to go into the Rift until morning. I'm told that the evening crowd gets a bit... rough. You might have an easier time going in unnoticed when it's less busy."

Jace hugged Sera before leaving and whispered in her ear, "It's not what's in your blood that defines you, Sera, it's what's in your heart." Surprisingly, he hugged Rayce as well, and then he turned to cut north west back toward Herondale Manor. It would be well past dark by the time he got home.

Rayce lifted the harness for his staff over his head and set both down under the outcropping, sitting down with his arms wrapped around his knees, eyes downcast. Sera went to sit next to him, pressing up against him so that their hips and shoulders were touching. "What's wrong, Rayce?"

"Everything. Those werewolves – I heard them while I was out of my mind with the fever. They were laughing about catching me because someone had paid them to watch the entrance we came through and report on anyone they caught in the area. They were looking forward to an easy payday.

"All I've done is run since the moment my mother was killed. I've only managed to stay ahead of everyone who's looking for me because of you. The only reason I'm free from the Clave _and_ the werewolves is because of you, Sera." He pushed up and stalked out into the rain, frustrated.

Sera couldn't contain the hurt that she felt when he said those words, and she pushed herself up as well, following him into the increasing downpour. "Why does it matter?" she called after him.

"It matters because I haven't _done_ anything! Sure, we stole the Seelie crown and prevented Malchezed from stealing the throne for a little while longer, but I didn't save my brother. I didn't rescue Zeke. I haven't even found my sister!" Rayce raked his hands back through his hair as it was slicked down by the rain. He was visibly upset and pacing back and forth, heedless that he was getting soaked.

"All those werewolves are dead. Who knows what's happening in Alicante right now because I was stupid enough to think that a Morgenstern would ever be welcome among the Nephilim." His voice started to rise above the noise of the now driving rain. "And all the effort you put in to save me – what good did it do?" He was practically shouting now. "Why was I even worth the effort of saving if I couldn't even save _one_ of them?"

"BECAUSE I WASN'T SAVING YOU FOR THEM!" Sera exploded before her dropping down to almost a whisper, her voice shaking, "I was saving you for me."

Rayce looked at her uncomprehendingly, rain trickling down his face like tears, and something inside Sera broke. She was tired of waiting. Fate be damned. If everyone else had a choice, then so did she. Free will.

She closed the gap between them in a moment and wrapped her hands around the back of Rayce's neck, pulling his mouth down to meet hers. She breathed in deeply through her nose as she felt his lips part in surprise, and she seized the advantage, her tongue tracing his lower lip in a flash of heat that made him gasp.

His arms closed around her, drawing her against his chest as he deepened the kiss, his lips soft and warm on hers. Sera felt light-headed, like she couldn't breathe, and it was almost as if Rayce could sense it because he shifted his lips away from hers to trail kisses down her rain-soaked neck, hot tongue marking a path down along her chilled flesh until he found the hollow of her throat, and then it was her turn to gasp as her head fell back a bit to expose her neck more fully to his attentions.

She twined her fingers into his slick hair, pulling him closer if it was even possible, and she felt her breasts strain against his chest as his hands slid down to her lower back to pull her closer, too. His other hand slid up her arm, fingers tracing her collarbone as he slid the straps of her tank top and bra down on that side to kiss along her bare shoulder.

"Sera," he whispered breathlessly, almost lost in the hiss of the rain that was falling around them. She slid one of her hands up to cup the side of his face, drawing his mouth back to hers, and she felt the aching sweetness as their lips met again. She was coming apart on the inside, and she just didn't care anymore.

Her hands explored under the open front of his button down shirt and she pushed it back from his shoulders and down his arms, where he only took his hands off her for a moment to impatiently shrug out of it the rest of the way before he pulled her body back against his.

Sera slipped her fingers under the edge of his shirt, tracing along the hard lines of his abdomen, hooking into his jeans where his hip bones left a tantalizing trail downward. Rayce groaned into her mouth and it was his turn to slide his hands under the bottom of her shirt and caress the soft curve of her hip.

He ducked his head back from her kiss for a moment, breathless grin made even more delicious when he bit his lower lip for a moment before pulling her shirt up and over her head in one smooth movement. Sera gasped playfully and returned the favour, flinging his black shirt out into the wet darkness somewhere.

They came together again in a rush, hands exploring newly exposed areas until Rayce tightened his grip on her hip and shoulder and had her down in the grass in an instant, him laying on his side next to her. He trailed his fingers down the curves of her body, and she pulled him down more urgently, small gasps escaping her as the intensity of their kisses deepened further.

She swung her leg over him, rolling him over onto his back while she straddled his hips, and a curtain of rain-darkened gold and platinum closed around him as she teased his lips in the darkness, nipping and retreating before he could catch her until he lost patience and his arms pulled her too close to escape while he took sweet revenge.

Another roll reversed their positions and Rayce pinned her wrists in the grass gently, trailing kisses up the side of her throat as her body arched with need under him.

"Rayce..." she whispered.

He drew back, releasing her wrists, worry creasing his face. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

Sera shook her head and pulled him back down to kiss him again.

"I want you to hurry up."


	17. Chapter 16

_**16**_

Sera woke to the sound of an owl hooting in the pre-dawn light, its luminous eyes staring down at where she was still tangled up with Rayce. It might have been her imagination, but she felt like the bird was judging her. She closed her eyes once more to avoid the accusatory stare and snuggled her face back into Rayce's shoulder, her fingers trailing up his chest absentmindedly as her thoughts flashed back to the previous night. _I can't believe I did that_ , she thought.

She sighed happily, pressing closer to Rayce to steal some of his warmth. It wasn't exactly warm outside, and they hadn't made a fire or dried out before falling asleep in each others arms last night under the outcropping. She also wasn't entirely sure where their shirts were; probably out in the grass somewhere.

Her dreams had been absent again last night, and she felt a flicker of unease in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't seen anything the last time she had slept next to Rayce, either. It was more likely that she was simply too exhausted from the events of the last few days to devote any energy to hunting through her dreams, but the alternative was unsettling as well. She didn't like not having any idea of what they were going to be walking into in the Rift today.

She felt Rayce's shoulder shift slightly under her as he moved in his sleep, his right hand skimming up her side to curl around her protectively, and she caught sight of the strange ring on his fourth finger that she had seen for a moment yesterday. It was a silver signet ring, the face of it stamped with a bold 'M', and a pattern of falling stars was etched into the sides.

Sera reached her left hand up slowly to lay it over his, covering the ring, but she immediately snatched her hand back as if she had been burned as images flashed across her eyes. _Fog. Rayce in scarlet gear. A second Rayce laying on a rocky shore sweating and bright-eyed. A blackened, scarred sword worn by both figures._

Rayce started awake, but immediately relaxed when he saw Sera in his arms. "Sera?"

She pushed herself up on one elbow, her hair falling like a golden cascade behind her as she searched his eyes for any clue as to what she had just seen.

"That ring. You didn't have it before."

He looked at it in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten it, then his eyebrows furrowed together as he shook his head. "I think I got it yesterday... from my father." As Sera's mouth fell open in shock, he sat up and rushed to explain what had happened at the lake, stumbling over the visions he had seen, the memory of them dim as he groped to remember details.

"And then after the third vision, I saw him, Sera. He walked out of the mist and _spoke_ to me. I felt his hands on my shoulders."

Sera shook her head. "Rayce... you're father is... dead," she said as gently as she could. "Whatever you saw, it was brought on by the waters of the Lake, the poison affecting your Shadowhunter half or the visions affecting your Faerie side."

Rayce held up his hand to her. "This isn't a hallucination, Sera. _Something_ gave me this ring."

She regarded him silently, not knowing what to say. He wanted so badly to believe; how could she shatter his hope? He had never known Sebastian Morgenstern as history had. Right now, he was just a lost son searching for a connection to his father.

"I believe you, Rayce," she said quietly. A gust of cool wind blew her hair back and reminded her that she was somewhat less dressed than she should be, and she broke the tension with a rueful smile. "I don't suppose you know where the rest of our clothes ended up, do you?"

He smiled crookedly and reached forward with his right hand, the one that bore the Morgenstern ring, and he cupped the side of her face gently as he leaned in to kiss her slowly. Her heart was pounding away madly in her chest by the time he pulled back and whispered, "I don't think _more_ clothes are the answer right now."

Her body screamed in agreement but her mind made her laugh and push him away lightly. "You're a fiend. I didn't even get dinner _or_ a movie first."

He pushed himself up to his feet in one smooth motion and raked his fingers back through his hair and out of his eyes. "I get the feeling that dinners and movies are going to quickly become my second- and third-favourite things," he paused, thoughtful. "What's a movie?"

Sera just laughed helplessly and shooed him away to go find the rest of their clothes. When he had returned with the regrettably damp garments, she pulled on her tank top and shivered, willing the sun to rise faster. Her eyes caught the gleam of his arm band as he pulled on the somewhat bedraggled button-down shirt and she remembered Jace's warning about her diary.

"Wait a sec," she said, reaching out to take the bangle from its place just above the curve of his bicep. "The Consul has my notebook now, and we might be safer if they can't track me with it."

The band was hopelessly loose on her arm until Rayce put his palms around it and flexed, forcing it to close until it was comfortably snug. "I thought this thing was tuned to me specifically...?" He asked.

Sera arched an eyebrow. "Is that what Seraphine said to get your clothes off?"

Rayce's cheeks flushed with a bit of colour but he didn't respond.

They followed Jace's directions from the previous night, keeping to the low point between the two hills as they crossed deeper into the range. Sera felt goosebumps rise along her arms that had nothing to do with the damp clothes she was wearing, and she stopped walking, eyes searching the area for the source of her discomfort.

"Sera?" Rayce had stopped too, and was looking back at her.

"Just wait. I don't think we should be going this way. Something's not right." She was turning slowly on the spot, scanning the trees and grasses for danger.

"No, it's fine. If you're feeling like that, it means we're close. I can feel the tug of the ley line energy, but my people laid a forbidding on the network to keep Shadowhunters away. That's all it is, I promise." He held his hand out for her to take, nodding encouragingly as she laid her hand in his.

She immediately felt most of the dread drop away as she fell under the protection of his Fey heritage, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "That seems pretty effective," she observed as they continued forward.

"Effective against anybody except someone like Jace, I'd assume. He probably started running _toward_ the rift when he felt the forbidding take a hold of him." Rayce shook his head in disbelief. Sera was inclined to agree with him.

The trees started growing closer together until they tangled into a mat of branches overhead and formed a tunnel that began to dip downward into the earth. Sera felt the dread return, and squeezed Rayce's hand a bit tighter, clenching her teeth and telling herself fiercely that it was all in her head.

Pulsing blue-white light was visible ahead, and the tunnel ended at a stoop of ancient rock that dropped off into the brightness. It was eerily silent, and the ley line magic splashed strange halos around Rayce's white hair as he turned to face Sera and took hold of her other hand when they stopped on the edge.

"I'll admit that I haven't done this very much; my sister was usually the one to shield Zeke from the worst of the _geas_ on the ley line system. We've managed together before on the way to fight in exhibitions and revels, but I have no idea how much Zeke's status as a Stripped Shadowhunter was contributing to his protection." He looked worried, but Sera leaned in to steal a kiss.

"I trust you."

He shook his head doubtfully. "For this, I almost wish you didn't. It might be worth a _pyr_ rune or two, good ones, just in case." He slid his hands up her arms to give her the freedom to apply them without losing his protection from the dread.

Sera nodded and pressed her palms to opposite forearms, watching as the twin _pyr_ runes swirled out to protect against burning, and then she shifted her hand further up her shoulder to add a strong but simple glamour to conceal her Mundane clothes and her Marks. The simpler it was, the slower the rune would burn away, but the risk was there. For Rayce, she altered the appearance of his staff, Mundane clothes, and as an afterthought, coloured his hair a dark blue.

He lifted an eyebrow as he caught sight of one blue lock where it was falling into his eyes. "Blue?"

"It's a Downworld thing, I've heard."

Rayce blew out a puff of air at the offending hair and grinned. "Ready?"

"No, but let's do it anyway."

He tightened his arms around her, tucking hers under his, and she buried her face in his chest as they stepped sideways off the rock into the blaze of magic.

Sera felt as if she'd stepped into a furnace. White heat washed over her and she gasped in a breath of air that felt like steam searing down her throat. All of her exposed flesh seemed to crackle and she opened her mouth to scream into Rayce's chest, but as suddenly as it had started, it ceased.

She sagged against Rayce, shaking and smoking. Rayce quickly looked around, but they were alone on the platform in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, Jace had given them good advice about waiting; if the platform had been busy, someone would have been bound to notice a smoking arrival. He loosened his arms a bit to look down at Sera and see if she was alright.

"Rayce..." she whispered, looking down at her arms where her skin was reddened like a bad sunburn. The glamour rune had been scorched off, and the powerful _pyr_ runes were nowhere to be seen. Sera winced and a gasp escaped her lips as she laid her palm gently against her shoulder to reapply her disguise. Rayce's remained intact, protected by his Fey blood, and he watched as _iratze_ runes went to work healing some of the damage caused by the magic. Her shaking subsided quickly, but she was breathing hard when she looked back up at Rayce.

"That was bad," she said in a low voice, standing up straighter. "I don't know if I have the strength to keep up the glamours in the event of an emergency."

Rayce wrapped his arms around her once more and kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Then we just won't have any emergencies, okay?"

Sera laughed weakly. "We should have tried that plan a lot sooner. I like that one better."

They clasped hands and headed toward the exit. Rayce had never been to the Rift, having been tethered to the Courts by his mother's magic save for when she had permitted him to leave to fight, but Zeke had come on occasion with friends.

Sera and Rayce left the ley line station behind, passing through one last tunnel of black rock dotted with glowing white crystals, and then the cavern in which the Rift had been crafted opened up in front of them.

The cavern was lit with Faerie lights of all different colours, wrapping around stalactites and stalagmites alike where they were carved into fabulous structures. It was a long, relatively narrow expanse that was centred around a broad central avenue that had smaller arteries branching off from it. Stone buildings rose from the ground as if they had always been there, seamless structures that were veined with mineral deposits glittering in the lights. The crowds were sparse, as Jace had predicted, and they were able to make their way to the main street without difficulty.

Rayce was anxiously trying to remember any scrap of information about the Rift that would help them navigate it now, and his eyes studied the greater castle-like structures carefully, trying to match one to the description he had heard of the governor's palace.

Lord Solarius had been in the highest favour of the Seelie Queen when the Rift had been completed, and she had granted him stewardship to oversee its activities and increase its profitability as much as possible. He had done exceedingly well in both regards, building up commerce and trade with every sort of Downworlder despite the Cold Peace restrictions. When he had been able to offer a place that was truly free of Shadowhunter influence, far more so than the Shadow Markets in the world above, some brave entrepreneurial Downworlders had come forward cautiously to peddle their unique pleasures. The Rift remained free of Nephilim raids and patrols, and then a veritable flood of vampires, warlocks, and werewolves had poured down into the cavern to engage in activities they had forgotten to even dream of in the Mundane world.

But attracting the most lawless and unsavoury Downworlders held its own inherent risks, and Solarius had ruled the Rift with a iron fist from the first day. It hadn't taken long for the code to be accepted; the Rift would allow you to do anything you wanted so long as you obeyed the Rift Lord's rules.

If Arynessa was here, and safe, it stood to reason that she would find her way to Lord Solarius. The trick was finding their own way there without running into anyone unfriendly. Rayce steered them to the right as they reached the main avenue and they hurried past the shops that lined the street.

One of the larger windows caught Rayce's eye as they were passing, the interior filled with material spell components used in warlock magic, but not the sort that would be readily available in the world above. He felt a flash of sickness as they crossed in front of the far end of the window and saw the cage inside with a hand-lettered sign advertising, 'Virgins – Buy one, get one 20% off'. It was hard to look away from the humans crouched within.

Low music drifted out of what was likely a vampire bar boasting a glowing red sign that read 'Choose Your Own – We trap it, you tap it'. He worried about what that might mean. More shops passed, and as they passed a rack of discount robes rolled out to attract customers, he slowed and pushed Sera ahead a bit. "Keep going," he whispered.

She continued nervously past a werewolf barber (Summer special – save on short styles to beat the heat!), and jumped a little when Rayce materialized back at her side, two cloaks tucked under one arm. He looked back to see if the shopkeeper had noticed and was relieved to see no sign of pursuit.

He shook a light-weight white cloak out and pulled it around Sera's shoulders, raising the hood to help hide her features and ease the strain on the glamour rune _._ He swung a heavier, black cloak around himself, brushing at the matted fur mantle across his shoulders. "Ugh, I didn't see the fur when I grabbed it. It's a lot heavier than it looked." He turned back to face the way they were heading and kept searching for something that would point them in the right direction.

A flash of memory sparked across Sera's mind as she recalled a dream fragment that she had written in her diary, one where she had watched Rayce cloak himself in darkness and turn away from her. _Was this what it meant? Does that mean we're on the right track?_

Rayce peered through the glass of a second-hand bookshop, window piled high with spell books, volumes of Fey poetry, and something that looked suspiciously like demonic pornography. He gasped out loud, though not at what the pictures were suggesting.

"Cassius," he whispered, pulling the door open.

The one-winged Faerie looked up as the pair entered and surprise flitted across his face before he smiled laconically, tossing his white-blond braid back over his shoulder.

"Blue does not suit you well, my friend." He opened his arms wide to embrace the prince, then held out a hand to Sera, palm up. With a quick glance at Rayce, she laid her hand in his and he bowed over it. "Lady Shadowhunter. I confess that I find myself surprised to find one of the Nephilim here looking quite so..."

"Alive?" Sera supplied helpfully.

A flicker of a smile touched his lips and he released her hand.

"Cassius, we need to find Arynessa," Rayce said in a low voice. "I know she fled here after... after."

"Yes. Your sister is well, and she is staying as an honoured guest of Lord Solarius, as so many others of the Court are during these... uncertain... times."

Rayce sighed with relief. "Is there any way you can get a message to her?"

Cassius looked at him curiously, his head cocked to one side. "I could simply bring you to her, my prince. Those who support Malchezed are not tolerated in the Rift Lord's home – you may find many supporters there, as your sister has."

Sera looked at Rayce in surprise. This was unexpected. Perhaps they had grown too accustomed to a fugitive life of running.

The Faerie dimmed the lights in the bookshop and locked the door behind him as they left, further surprising both of them. They turned right and continued up the way Rayce and Sera had been heading. A table was set out in front of a narrow shopfront, and Sera stifled a gasp as she saw steles and witchlights heaped upon it. Her eyes searched the interior as they passed and she saw full sets of gear hanging on display, albeit with some suspicious rents in vital places. An unrecognizable creature leered at her from the door and called out in a guttural voice, "Shadowhunter spoils, pretty girl? Free to look, cheap to buy." She shook her head mutely and quickened her steps to close the small gap that had widened between her and the men.

Cassius walked easily, comfortable on the main avenue of the Rift, and he led them to the very end of the street where a glorious palace hung from the ceiling, gorgeously carved from a stalactite and illuminated with colour-shifting Faerie lights.

Sera craned her neck to look up at the jewel of the Rift and was awed by what had been crafted here. _How the hell do we get up there?_

"It's only a matter of knowing where you are before you can get to where you want to be, beautiful girl," Cassius said quietly in response to her unspoken thought. He continued walking until they were in a bit of a niche at the end of the street and hidden from the shops, and then he crowded up against one wall, beckoning the two of them to huddle close. Sera looked down and could see that there were symbols carved into the rock under their feet, though not ones that she could recognize.

The Faerie folded his wing around them and they were transported in a flash of green light, appearing in a beautiful entry hall that was richly decorated. White stone swirled through black without any seams, the walls baring silver sconces that glowed with soft white light from within. A pathway of scattered red rose petals laid a splash of colour across the stone, but Sera was reminded uncomfortably of a trail of blood. A little sprite girl ran ahead, presumably to find the master of the house.

The trio followed the petals into a grand audience chamber where great falls of red silk curtains obscured the rock walls and natural windows that opened to look out into the Rift. A pixie entered shortly after them with a silver tray of refreshments - berry juice and some sort of pastries that Sera couldn't identify. She helped herself immediately and Rayce followed, though with better manners, perhaps.

"Ohhhmigawd," Sera sighed happily around a mouthful of food. Rayce couldn't contain a smile and he felt a flush of contentment flood through him. For the first time in days, they were safe. The glamour runes were expiring quietly and their disguises melted away under the stolen cloaks.

He heard soft footsteps approaching and turned just in time to see his sister sweep through the doorway, gowned in a silver confection of exquisite beauty. She raised her hand to cover her mouth when she saw him and ran forward.

"Rayce!" She threw herself at her brother, arms tightening around him fiercely, and when she drew back there were tears in her eyes. "What happened to you?" She finally took her eyes off him long enough to notice Sera downing a goblet of juice, and Cassius standing further back in the room, partially obscured by the red silks.

The dark-skinned Faerie bowed slightly to Arynessa and excused himself quietly after she touched his shoulder gently in thanks. As he left the room, another Faerie entered, and Rayce had no doubt that he was looking at the Rift Lord.

Solarius was tall and athletic looking, the gentle breeding of his highborn blood clear in his striking features. His long, pale-blond hair was bound back under a slim circlet of gold, and clear green eyes swept over Rayce and Sera. High cheekbones gave his face a more angular cast, though they were balanced by a strong jaw. His voice was like poured honey when he spoke.

"Please allow me to offer you welcome to my home, and my personal assurances of your safety here. Many have fled the Seelie Court seeking sanctuary from Malchezed's hunters, and I will not close my doors to any who reject him."

Arynessa left her brother's side to stand with Solarius, slipping an arm around his waist and tilting her head to rest on his shoulder. Rayce was floored, but his mind quickly pieced together all of his sister's increasingly long absences over the last year and her immediate flight to the Rift when their mother had been killed. He felt a surprisingly strong surge of pride in his sister, and happiness that she had found someone as strong as she was.

"Sister... I'm so pleased to find you well," he said.

"And I you, brother, though I believe that you will owe us some stories." Her eyes quickly passed over Sera and the nearly empty tray. The four settled into a pair of couches set to one side of the room around a fireplace and Solarius flicked two fingers at the grate, bringing a roaring fire to life in an instant. Sera sat closer to the fire and let the remaining chill in her body melt away far more pleasantly than it had in the ley line.

She let Rayce tell their story, allowing her mind to wander and observe the two beautiful Fey across from her, watching their reactions or lack thereof. Sera started to feel comfortably warm, and her mind relaxed.

Arynessa, in turn, shared her story, confirming the presence of dozens of courtiers who were claiming the protection of the Rift Lord here.

"Without the Seelie crown, Malchezed doesn't have the strength to launch an all-out assault here. The ley lines provide an impressive amount of power for the cavern's defenders, and if it were to be used offensively..." she trailed off ominously.

"And aside from that," Solarius added, "he can't risk damaging the resources here. We can continue to defy him for quite some time, I would imagine."

"Why don't you fight back?" Sera asked suddenly, her words slurring a bit. "Smash the bat-goat bastard right back to the Unseelie Court?"

Arynessa and Rayce stared at her incredulously, but it was Solarius who rose gracefully and slipped a ring from one of his fingers to present to Sera.

She looked at him, dumb-founded, and shook her head. "I'm flattered, but _he's_ mine," she said, jerking a thumb at Rayce.

Solarius laughed softly and gestured for her to take the ring. "A token of mine to shelter you from the effects of my people's food and drink. I think perhaps you may have fallen under the influence in time."

The white-gold ring was set with a glittering sapphire surrounded by diamonds and it fit nicely on her middle finger. She felt the intoxicating fog begin to lift and gasped in horror. "I'm so sorry... uh... my Lord."

The Rift Lord smiled generously and dismissed her apologies with his hand. "It is I who should apologize; I should have realized sooner. And to answer your question, we lack any real fighters among the refugees. Many of the Faerie knights loyal to the Queen were slain in the takeover, and worse, many more have shifted their allegiance to Malchezed. With his Unseelie warriors to augment those numbers, it would be a difficult battle to win."

"The Hunt," Rayce whispered.

Arynessa looked startled. "What?"

"Lord Gwyn and the Wild Hunt. They are the fiercest warriors in the Faerie realm. They could turn the tide of Unseelie back."

She looked doubtful. "The Hunt does not choose sides, Rayce. They are neutral, and take no part in the politics of the Courts."

"Gwyn is a good man," Rayce insisted, remembering the giant Faerie's sad, kind eyes when he had pulled the maddened Hunter off Rayce after his first tournament match all those years ago. "He'll do the right thing."

Solarius tilted his head in consideration. "If he could be found to ask, perhaps. I have no dealings with the Hunt, but there may be someone here in the Rift who might know how to contact them."

"Then you must let us try," Rayce said.

The Rift Lord nodded. "Please, avail yourself of the amenities of my home before you continue on your journey. You have had a difficult road, and it may yet become more difficult before the end." He bade them farewell and took his leave, instructing servants to guide Rayce and Sera to somewhere where they could wash away the last few days.

Despite being free of the inebriating effects of the Faerie food, Sera still found herself hoping desperately that there would be some sort of sinful hot spring cavern, like the one Daerion had teased Risellea about, and so was slightly disappointed when they were led to separate guestrooms. Apparently Solarius was accommodating, but not _that_ accommodating.

When she emerged from her room half an hour later scrubbed clean and dressed in wide, white silk slacks and a corset-style top, she felt exceedingly refreshed. While she was standing still, it looked like she was wearing a dress, but she still had all the freedom of movement she could want. She had even replaced her favourite black boots with sturdy white leather ones, and she crammed her old boots into the pack that she was still carrying mostly out of habit at this point. She highly approved of her new attire, and made a mental note to thank Arynessa for the loan, as there was little doubt in her mind as to where the clothes had come from.

Rayce was waiting for her in the hallway, dressed in the same style of loose black clothing that he had been wearing the night they first met. She couldn't help but smile when she saw him.

"You know you look like a ninja on casual Friday, right?"

The joke fell on deaf ears as he stared at her, drinking in the lines of her body, and he was on her in an instant, his fingers raking into her hair at the base of her neck as he kissed her. She sighed contentedly and was running her hands up his chest when she heard someone clear their throat down the hall.

Arynessa was grinning at the pair when she gestured for them to follow her and they obeyed, masking their frustration.

"Sol has a pretty good lead on someone who may know some Hunt secrets, and I'm going to lead you to him. Just do me one favour, brother," Arynessa shot Rayce a meaningful sideways glance, "and play along with whatever happens."

She refused to elaborate further in case she was misreading the situation, leaving Rayce and Sera to wonder what they were getting into. Sera threw her stolen cloak back on and pulled up the hood once more. She reapplied strong glamour runes to hide their Marks, but that was all. They would hold for a while. Rayce took the pack from her and they set out.

The trio passed back out along the main avenue, finally branching off onto one of the side streets. Arynessa brought them up short at the end of the street where an establishment had been carved into a curling stalagmite. It was entirely black on the outside, but red light shone from within. The bass line of some sort of trance music could be heard pounding behind the black door.

"It's a vampire bar, so no staring. Got it?" Arynessa fixed each of them with a hard stare of her own and waited for them to nod before turning around and pushing the door open. Her long purple tresses trailed out behind her and red light sparkled off the slinky silver dress as she led them into the bar.

The first thing Sera saw was a raised stage where a nearly naked, beautiful vampire girl was dancing sinuously with a pole, her unnatural strength allowing her to far surpass any human peers in the Mundane world. Easy armchairs were pulled up to the edges of the stage, and most of them were filled with patrons enjoying the show.

Other scantily clad vampires, both male and female, and some of the Fey glided through the room, pausing to lean in and whisper offers to singles and pairs seated around tiny tables. Flutes of what could only be blood crowded the tabletops, and it looked like a number of other types of drinks were being served. Sera tried hard to obey the no-staring rule, but could feel her eyes taking in the hedonistic flesh market on display with a mix of disgust and curiosity.

She followed Arynessa and Rayce brought up the rear, so she couldn't tell how much of this he was also not-staring at. They cut deeper into the club, the Faerie prince and princess drawing appreciative nods and Sera's hooded figure pulling curious eyes. Her eyes slid over the gleaming chrome and glass bar as they passed and she used every ounce of self-control that she possessed not to leap over the counter and pull one of the knives from her boots.

Humans, live humans, hung suspended by their ankles behind the bar, in front of a mirror. They appeared to be in a trance, or asleep, but Sera could see them breathing. She watched in horror as a bartender pressed a glass to a man's throat, just under a barely-healed slice, and he reopened it, letting a trickle of blood run into the tumbler before licking a finger and sealing the cut once more. Sera swallowed thickly and prayed that she wouldn't be sick.

At the back of the bar they passed through a shimmering curtain of black beads and climbed a narrow spiral staircase. They were met at the top by two burly vampires who backed down quickly when Arynessa pressed a small card into one's hand. Lord Solarius' sigil was an all-access pass in the Rift.

They were admitted into a small, private room with a circular couch running halfway around the interior, enclosing a raised platform with a pole with the help of an armchair on the right. The wall across from the armchair was mirrored, and Sera caught a glimpse of herself in the dim red light as she passed it to take a spot on the couch. With her Marks hidden by the glamour and her features otherwise unaltered, it was no wonder she had been drawing eyes downstairs. She could nearly pass as Fey gentry herself, if not for her rounded ears, hidden by the casual tousle of her loose curls.

It wasn't long before the door opened once more and Sera broke the no-staring rule. A very tall, thin vampire with broad shoulders stepped into the room. His heritage looked mixed, and his skin was the colour of toffee. He wore an impeccably-tailored deep red suit with black lapels and a narrow top hat banded in red silk adorned with a single purple plume to match the shade of the shirt he was wearing. The front of the shirt was unbuttoned down to his sternum, and Sera could see a black cord threaded with what looked like half a dozen vampire fangs hanging from his neck. A thin black moustache pencilled across his upper lip, and his face broke out into a smile when he regarded his guests, a small gap showing between his two front teeth.

"Welcome, ma chère," he greeted Arynessa in a faint Cajun accent as she rose from the armchair and he pressed an amicable kiss to her cheek. "I see you've brought me an exceptional offering tonight. Give Sol my regards, yes?"

"You know why we're here, Remy. We need to know where to find the Wild Hunt and how to contact them."

"So impatient, princess. You should really take the time to _enjoy_ the pleasures life can bring you." He sprawled his length out in the armchair she had vacated, one leg thrown over the side carelessly, and he rested his chin in one hand as he regarded them. "If you're so keen to rush this, two thousand is my price."

Arynessa laughed out loud and shook her head. "Out of the question. It'll be five hundred, as before, and you'll be glad of it."

Sera followed the exchange with a touch of confusion. If it was a question of money, she could afford any price he named. She was about to say as much when Arynessa pointed a finger at her brother. "He's half and half, and that makes him worth twice as much."

One side of their host's mouth curved up and he moved with blinding speed to stand in front of Rayce, eyes glittering in the dim light. He leaned over and slowly inhaled as his face traced the line of the prince's neck, only a fraction of an inch from his skin. His eyes rolled back with pleasure and he looked over his shoulder at Arynessa.

"A thousand. You want to know where and how. That's two questions."

"You're awfully greedy, Ledéchiré."

"Why don't we ask _him?_ " Remy turned his eyes to Rayce, his face still uncomfortably close. "Will you bleed for your cause, my prince?"

Rayce remembered his sister's warning to play along with whatever happened, but it was starting to sound like he was going to be paying for the information in blood. He buried his doubts under his brother's training and returned the Cajun's stare boldly. "I accept."

"Ten minutes, maximum," Arynessa huffed before leaving the room. Sera was torn with indecision. Did she follow Arynessa or stay?

The vampire turned his gaze to her and she wiggled back further on the couch, crossing her arms over her breasts. "I'm not going anywhere."

He laughed darkly and muttered that he should be charging her to watch, but he rose up to his full height and offered Rayce his long-fingered hand. Rayce took it without hesitating and let the vampire settle him into the armchair. The top hat was discarded, a silver, full-finger claw ring appeared on Remy's index finger, and he trailed the sharp tip of it lightly across Rayce's collarbone as he circled behind the armchair, sending a thrill of fear up the prince's spine.

"A pity," the vampire whispered into his ear, "that your sister hasn't given us time to properly enjoy this." His lips brushed across Rayce's throat and he felt the pulse quicken there. He smiled to himself and then grinned wickedly over Rayce's shoulder at where Sera was watching queasily. "Heating up a snack is half the fun."

A cool, dark hand slid up the side of Rayce's neck and tilted his head to one side, fingers holding his jaw lightly as the vampire leaned in. A quick flick of his tongue started to numb the area, and then his fangs snapped down in anticipation while Rayce's pulse throbbed faster.

When he finally sank his fangs into the prince's neck, Rayce sighed with pleasure and his back arched in response. Remy's appreciative groan was low, nearly a growl as he took his first mouthful of rare half-Faerie, half-Shadowhunter blood. Rayce inhaled sharply as the vampire sucked gently, and his hands came up unconsciously as if to pull the creature closer, though he was still standing behind the armchair.

Sera closed her eyes, unable to watch as Rayce fell under the vampire's spell. She decided that on one hand she was in Arynessa's debt for the time limit imposed, and on the other she wanted to throw the princess through a window for whoring her brother out like this. She blocked out the sighs and sounds of pleasure coming from the two men across from her and willed it to end soon.

Not soon enough, Remy staggered away from Rayce and fell back onto the couch, where his head would have fallen into Sera's lap if she hadn't already leaped to Rayce's side. His eyes fluttered open at her touch as she erased the puncture marks with _iratze_ s and left a few blood-replenishment runes for good measure.

"Sorry... Sera..." he panted.

She kissed him swiftly. "Don't think about it."

Remy was still recovering on the couch when Arynessa returned as the allotted ten minutes expired. She ignored her brother and Sera, fixing the vampire with a hard look. "Your turn now, vampire."

Ledéchiré pulled himself upright and nodded, still staring almost drunkenly at Rayce. "Such a rarity... it's been too long since I've had the taste of one of Sammael's brood. And that hint of something else... something dark. Absolutely exquisite – I've never had anything like it."

"The Hunt?" she prompted again.

"Yes, yes. Both Courts can summon the Lord of the Hunt," he saw Arynessa's murderous stare and hastened to continue, "but they can be found in the Mortal realm as well, in the country the Mundanes call Wales. The Cŵn Annwn, the Hounds of the Underworld, can be found under a hollow mountain there. It will be my pleasure to provide a _detailed_ map. Under the hollow peak rises a crystal spire from a natural spring. Strike the spire with the ancient hammer there and you will call the Hunt to you."

They left quickly after that, Remy calling after Rayce that he was welcome to return when they could have more time together, and Arynessa brought them back out into the street, where she quickly embraced her brother.

"I'm sorry, Rayce, but it was the only way."

"I forgive you, sister." He hugged her back.

" _I_ don't," Sera muttered.

The side street was still deserted, and Rayce took his sister's hand.

"We'll bring the Hunt to help rid the Court of Malchezed and the Unseelie, but we'll need you to bring those whom you and Lord Solarius have gathered..."

"Of course."

"...because I want you to wield the power of the Seelie crown to aid them."

Arynessa's eyes widened at her brother's plan. "Mother meant for Bael to take the throne after her, not me."

"I know, but we can't guarantee that we'll be able to get to him fast enough to help. Is it possible to transfer the bond to him once Malchezed is defeated?"

She nodded. "Yes, we're both Seelie heirs. It would be a simple thing."

"Then Sera and I will convince Lord Gwyn to fight with us, and we'll bring the Hunt to meet your courtiers tomorrow night. Listen for the horns, sister."

"I will."


	18. Chapter 17

_**17**_

Alec yawned widely and shook his head to clear it. He knuckled his forehead and rubbed at his eyes tiredly, wishing he had managed to get a few more hours of sleep before coming back to his office this morning. He hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to Magnus before leaving, his husband too busy examining the Seelie crown in a warded room in the basement. The lure of studying it had been too strong for Magnus, and he had insisted that it was a 'once in an immortal lifetime' chance when he had removed the crown from the Consul's vault in the Gard. Alec had sighed and made him promise to return it in once piece.

His eyes strayed to the top drawer of his desk, where he had locked up Sera's dream diary, and he briefly considered pulling it out to read more of the entries before he resolutely snatched the amendment he was working on back toward him. Or was this the amendment to the amendment? He had lost track. All that mattered was that the Council had refused to ratify it without amending the amendments to the amendments. Burning the whole thing would be satisfying, but unproductive, so he set his pen back down to the page and had just started writing again when there was a soft knock on his office door.

"Come in," he called.

One of the young pages from the Council Hall entered timidly and approached his desk.

"Consul? The Council is requesting your presence immediately for an emergency meeting. They said it was urgent." Claudia Blackthorn twisted the end of her dark brown braid and looked down, nervous about speaking directly to the Consul, Alec assumed.

"Emergency meeting? I haven't heard anything about that. Who called it?" He rose from the desk and straightened his collar, smoothing out some of the wrinkles in his shirt and hoping that he didn't look as dishevelled as he felt.

Claudia's answer was too quiet to hear the first time she gave it, and Alec had to prompt her again before she whispered, "Everett Whitelock, sir."

A flash of unease shot through Alec. An emergency meeting, indeed.

Alec followed the young girl out of his office, idly wondering if she was 10 or 11 years old now – sometimes it was hard to keep track with the Blackthorn brood. She left him at the door of the Council Hall, and he gave her a reassuring smile before pushing open the heavy wooden door and walking through.

The first thing he noticed was how full the galleries were, and the second thing was how few of those faces looked friendly. The flicker of unease in the pit of his stomach kindled into a small burn of apprehension. He recognized many of the Shadowhunters gathered foremost in the galleries. _Ravenkey. Blackblood. Dragonway. Montfleur. Belletower_. Everett's sycophants, and plenty more visible behind them.

Whitelock himself was standing up on the dais dressed in an expensive grey suit, leaning against the railing just a few feet away from Alec's place in the Consul's seat, chatting easily with Inquistor Everdale. Alec steeled himself and forced his face to look relaxed as he climbed the dais comfortably and settled back into the green leather chair to survey the crowd.

Alec cleared his throat and called out to the Shadowhunters who were still whispering behind hands and casting glances up at him, "Please be seated. This emergency session is now called to order, and I would like to open it by asking what your agenda is."

"I think that's what we'd _all_ like to ask _you_ , Consul," Everett pounced on the moment, sweeping his arm out expansively to include the onlookers. "I have discovered a series of events that have caused me great concern over the past few days. I called the Council members to hear my findings, as they may affect us all."

Alec's heart sank, but he couldn't stop him. Any member of the Council could call an emergency meeting if there was due cause, and so long as they notified as many Council members as possible, the session would be considered to have quorum, and its actions would be binding. Everett had the floor now.

"My investigation began when it came to my attention that two Centurions had been admitted to the infirmary in the middle of the night following an unspecified altercation within the Gard. I asked myself, 'Why are there Centurions in the Gard at all? Let alone in the middle of the night, and suffering injury?' I confess that I was concerned."

He lifted one hand to the far end of the gallery and a Shadowhunter shuffled forward, shoulder-length dark hair hanging loose around her face, partially obscuring it as she looked down at the floor. Alec felt a flash of cold. _Ria, no._

"Ria Ravenwood," Everett introduced her to the crowd, "has been serving as a personal bodyguard to the Consul recently. On the night in question, she and her parabatai subdued two intruders in the Consul's office and locked them in the deep cells with orders to keep silent on the matter.

"Ria was then sent to the Gard Portal to meet with the two Centurions who would later be admitted to the infirmary. They had been recalled with orders directly from the Consul to immediately return from their active investigation in the field and report for duty here. They were assigned to stand guard over the prisoners. It's unclear how, but the intruders were able to escape from the deep cells and vanish without a trace.

"The majority of you gathered here today took part in the massive manhunt for the intruders the following morning, several hours after their escape. You were shown fanciful images of the two, but their names were withheld, and I can tell you why right now." Everett's face split into a bitter grin under his goatee as he dropped the bomb. "The man identified himself as Rayce Morgenstern, son of Sebastian Morgenstern."

The Council hall exploded into chaos as people began shouting and gasps of disbelief rippled across the room. Alec felt sick. He could see the gleam in the eyes of the Whitelock supporters, their voices lifted the loudest, exciting the crowd further, stirring the volatile pot of fear. He also saw, with a spark of hope, that Jace had slipped in through the doors and was standing just inside, arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head in disbelief at the growing mob mentality.

Everett let it continue for a little while longer and then raised his arms, entreating the crowd to settle down so that he could go on with the show. He reached into the inside pocket of his tailored jacket and withdraw a familiar, fat notebook bound with elastics.

"And the girl," he continued, as he slapped the book down on the table in front of Alec. "Well, isn't she just... special?" His dark eyes burned into the Consul where the crowd couldn't see, and Alec just knew that Everett had read everything Sera had written without a shred of guilt.

Whitelock spun around to face the crowd again and strode forward a few steps theatrically, his voice lifting once more as he pointed an accusatory finger at the damning evidence. " _That_ book belongs to her. It was locked in the Consul's own desk even as he sent our warriors out hunting for the escaped intruders. She could have been tracked easily, but instead, our Consul ordered a sham of a search to keep our eyes trained outward rather than inward.

"That same morning, a fire message was sent to the Consul's office while he was closeted away with a small group of confidants, including his Downworlder mate and lawless parabatai." He produced a scrap of paper and held it up for the Shadowhunters to see before reciting the short message from memory, "'Come home immediately'. It's written in a feminine hand," he turned to sneer at Alec. "too feminine, perhaps, to even belong to your pet warlock. To your parabatai's wife, then?"

He didn't wait for an answer, continuing on confidently as he paced along the edge of the gallery railings, drawing the crowd in with him.

"After arming himself heavily, Jace Herondale was observed riding out of the city with great haste. I worried for the safety of his family, particularly when I learned that his wife had not checked back in with her search group after they split off to search the area to the south of the city. Neither she nor her _female_ partner returned, in fact.

"In my diligence, I consulted with the Portal activity logs for the day and found an entry had been made to record a Portal originating from Herondale Manor and opening into an uninhabited area of Brocelind Forest. Fearing for both the Herondales and any of our Downworlder allies in the area, I took the liberty of sending scouts to try to locate any sign of the missing Shadowhunters."

Everett slowed at the front of the Hall, his face taking on a sorrowful cast as he sighed and raised his right hand to cover his heart. "It grieves me to tell you that after fanning out to search the area, they stumbled across what had obviously been a thriving den of werewolves. Every last one of them had been savagely murdered, many of the kills clearly made by seraph blades."

Alec felt as though he'd been punched in the chest. His mouth sagged open as his eyes lifted to find Jace's, and his parabatai could only stare back helplessly, guilt stamped plainly across his face. Alec felt deeply hurt by the betrayal. He had _told_ Jace to stay out of Brocelind. And all of this with Clary... what had he _done?_

The Council members had erupted again with the revelation that the werewolves had been slain with Nephilim weapons, and Alec could see that it was no longer only Everett's lackeys staring at him. He saw sadness in many eyes, and he felt his heart sinking. It should never have come to this.

Everett had to shout to be heard once more, and the crowd didn't fully settle this time, so he bounded back to the dais and called over them, "I move to submit a vote of no confidence in Consul Alec Lightwood, and suggest that he and his co-conspirators, Jace and Clary Herondale, be immediately placed under house arrest while this matter is investigated further."

The gathered Shadowhunters began shouting in agreement at once, slapping hands down on the railings and stamping their feet to add the noise in the Hall. Alec felt numb, and the sound seemed to fall away as blood rushed in his ears. He noticed distantly that four big Nephilim had corralled Jace at the back of the Hall and were bringing him forward. Two more lifted Alec from the Consul's chair and Inquisitor Everdale pulled out his stele to draw a Mark around the circumference of Alec's wrists. When he had finished, a circlet of burning flames looped around his crossed wrists, and the process was repeated for Jace.

The Inquisitor looked at Jace sternly. "The flames will only burn you if you try to get your hands free."

Jace's mouth twisted up into a sarcastic grin. "Yeah, this part is _shockingly_ familiar. I can't wait until we get to the part where you realize how goddamned wrong you are. I _love_ that part." Two of the Nephilim behind him took hold of his shoulders and steered him away, and Alec followed with two more gripping his forearms as they marched him through the throng of jeering Shadowhunters.

In the hallway, Jace was led off to the left, and Alec was taken to the right, where he was pushed into a small conference room. He stood dejectedly, surrounded by familiar sights that brought him no comfort now.

The door opened to admit Everett Whitelock, who was smiling widely at the sight of his disgraced and defeated rival standing bound and beaten at last.

"Alec. Alec. This could have been avoided if you'd only heeded my advice to step down sooner. Now look at what a mess you're in. The Lightwood name might have _almost_ been cleared, but your family just can't seem to help itself, right down from Benedict to Robert to you."

Alec said nothing.

"There's only one thing missing now, Consul. Where's the Seelie crown? I know the Morgenstern boy gave it to you, so don't bother lying."

Alec shook his head slowly. "You know, I can't remember." He shrugged helplessly. "Why don't you ask Ria?"

Everett stepped closer until their faces were only inches apart, though Alec was the taller of the two. "House arrest was only the first step, Lightwood. Once you're convicted and stripped of the office you never should have held, I'll make sure the Inquisitor _enjoys_ helping you to remember exactly where it is."

Sera and Rayce looked around an expansive cavern that was lit by the ley line magic behind him and showed a half dozen exits that led into the labyrinth of tunnels under Cadair Idris in Wales.

"So... that's why we got a map. Huh." Sera looked over at Rayce and gave him half a smile.

"For that price, we should have gotten an escort," Rayce grumbled.

"You know, if he remembers that Shadowhunters can replenish their blood supply at triple the Mundane rate, you might need to hide from _him_ next. You'd be the world's greatest all-you-can-eat buffet."

Rayce growled and pounced on her, sweeping her into his arms in a moment before burying his face in her neck, his breath hot as he whispered, "There's only one all-I-can-eat buffet that I want, and it's right here."

Sera threw her head back and laughed as Rayce kissed his way up her throat and then she ducked back down to catch his mouth with hers, surprising him. "No biting, though, okay?"

He laughed quietly, deep in his throat, as he set her back down. "Maybe a little biting."

Her face flushed and she took his hand, pulling him toward the mountain. " _Men._ You pick the _worst_ times to do this."

Rayce sighed dramatically and allowed her to drag him forward.

Arynessa had escorted them through the network this time, extending her full-blooded Fey protection to Sera. Not a single wisp of smoke had risen from the Shadowhunter when they arrived, and Rayce had started to suspect that Arynessa had been roasting Zeke for fun all these years. She had returned to the Rift immediately to begin marshaling the refugee courtiers, and the countdown was ticking until they were due to join forces for the assault.

Furnished with a _detailed_ map, as promised by Ledéchiré, Rayce and Sera set out into the maze with Rayce's witchlight stone from the pack held high. The tunnels were deathly silent, and they occasionally came across rusted cogs and gears that had seen better days.

Following twists and bends, they soon lost all sense of where they were going and would have been lost without the map. Nearly half an hour after they had started, Rayce could feel a blooming awareness in his chest and he touched Sera's arm. "We're getting close. I can feel an entrance to Faerie nearby. It feels different, though, maybe an entrance to the Unseelie Court."

She nodded and consulted the map in her hands. He was right.

The smell of fresher air was carried on a faint current ahead, and they broke out of the tunnel complex into a wide open area under a hollow peak. Far above them, the night sky was visible, stars shining brightly. The angle wasn't right to catch the light from the moon, but faint starlight illuminated a crystal spire rising from a spring in the centre of the cavern.

They approached cautiously, Rayce's eyes scanning the darkness around them and Sera keeping an eye on the water of the pool where it bubbled upward. Emerald lichen climbed the walls of the cavern. They reached the spire unmolested and found an ancient hammer laying on the stones that ringed the pool, just as the vampire had promised.

"You know," Sera's voice broke the silence, "I was kind of hoping that Cajun bastard was lying so I could hate him a bit more."

Rayce didn't seem to hear her, his eyes fixed on the crude, bronze head of the hammer. It was etched with old Faerie runes that far pre-dated those of the Nephilim. This was an old language from when the Fey had not been such a secret presence in the world. He reached out to pick up the hammer and the grip fit into his palm easily.

He looked at Sera questioningly and shrugged. She nodded wordlessly and held her breath as he drew the hammer back and slammed its head into the crystal pillar.

A horrible, jarring, echoing sound screamed from the pillar discordantly, reverberating through the chamber and it caused Rayce to drop the hammer and cover his ears. The twisted cacophony shrieked upward through the opening in the mountain and then quieted as the echoes faded.

Sera tentatively took her hands away from her ears. "Maybe a practice swing would be in order next time," she said weakly, relieved that she could even hear herself.

Rayce didn't have a chance to answer before a howling started to build in the air around them, wild whoops chasing the final echoes of the summoning away. Piercing notes rang out from hunting horns and figures on airborne steeds began dropping through the hollow peak, mounts tossing their manes as their hooves churned in the air.

The riders circled the pair standing next to the pool, their steeds flashing by like smoke sometimes while remaining solid at others. All manner of creatures were visible in the starlight as they passed in a dizzying whirl at breakneck speed, and the Hunters continued to hoot and holler wildly until a larger shadow descended among them to land lightly before Rayce where he still stood with the hammer at his feet.

Lord Gwyn ap Nudd of the Hunt was a massive Faerie, exactly as Rayce remembered him from a decade before, and his mismatched eyes of black and pale blue fixed on the prince with recognition. The Hunters quieted in deference to Gwyn and reined in their mounts. A rider with blue-black hair astride a white horse stopped a few paces behind Gwyn. His hands were sheathed in white gauntlets that tightened on the reins when he saw who had rung the spire.

"Why have you summoned the Wild Hunt, son of the Morning Star?" Gwyn rumbled, his eyes passing over Sera without interest.

"Because I am also a son of the Seelie Queen, Lord Gwyn, and I must do what I can to protect the Court from the traitorous plots of its enemies. My mother was murdered by the Unseelie who have invaded my home, and my family has been torn apart by the usurper, Malchezed. I have come here to beg the aid of the Wild Hunt in restoring the balance and fighting back against the invaders. My sister stands ready with the courtiers still free and loyal to the throne, but she does not have the warriors needed to defeat the Unseelies who hold the Court now. Please, join your strength to ours, that we may right the wrongs done to our people."

Gwyn closed his eyes and lowered his head, removing the great helm and tucking it under one burly arm. "As a prince of the Courts, surely you must know that the Hunt is a neutral force in the political minefields of the Fey. Ours is the task of nurturing our homeland with the blood of the fallen, of renewing the magic that binds us to and sustains us in this world. It is not for us to interfere with those who seek to claim the thrones of our people."

Rayce unconsciously took a step back, his head shaking faintly to one side as concern drew his features down. "But they'll be slaughtered if we don't meet them, my Lord."

"Then my brothers and I will gather the honoured dead and convey them to their final resting place deep within the realm of Faerie to feed the Eternal Forest. Even the lives of the Fey must come to an end, my prince, great and small. It has been so for thousands of years, and it is neither my hand nor yours that will stay their fate." The big man's eyes were gentle as he laid a giant hand on Rayce's shoulder. "You are young, and your passion does you credit, but it does not move me."

Gwyn looked over his shoulder at his waiting riders and raised his arm to circle it above his head. They broke ranks immediately and dispersed across the cavern floor to dismount. The Lord of the Hunt looked back at the stricken prince once more. "You and your companion are welcome to stay for the rest of night and share our food and fire before you journey to meet your sister. It is unwise to go to battle unrested, and you both look as though your road has been long."

He turned away from Rayce and Sera to stride back through the ranks of his Hunters and then he vanished through an opening in the far wall.

Rayce still hadn't moved. Sera stepped in front of him and touched his face, bringing his eyes down to hers and away from the vanished Faerie. "Rayce..." she began.

"He didn't care," Rayce whispered. "All of these years, I have remembered him as a man of honour. I was certain that he would want to defend the throne from a usurper, one who was never intended to rule our people. Can't he see it's not _right?_ "

"I don't think he sees right and wrong in the same way we do, Rayce."

His gaze strayed away from hers, back to the path Gwyn had taken. "But he must. We cannot hope to drive out Malchezed without the Hunters."

"We should rest, as he suggested." Sera bit her lip and looked up at Rayce hesitantly. "I want to try to sleep alone if I can. I'm worried that I can't see you when you're so close – maybe it's like trying to stare at my own nose and I'm going cross-eyed. I haven't been able to dream properly, but perhaps if I can, I will find a solution for us." She kissed him lightly, a brush of her lips against his, and then rocked back to await his response.

He swept his arms around her fiercely and pressed his lips to hers, gasping a bit before he whispered wonderingly, "You never give up, do you?"

"I'll never give up on us, Rayce," she whispered back before knotting her fingers in his hair and pulling him back down to her waiting mouth, heedless of any eyes that may have been watching.

Rayce settled her into a small alcove of the cavern where emerald moss had grown thickly and made a more comfortable place to sleep than anywhere else they could find. Rayce bundled up her stolen cloak into a pillow for her and left the pack within easy reach, then he unclasped his dark cloak to lay over her. She felt the warmth of him in the folds of the material and drew it closer as he pressed a kiss to her hair before he rose to leave.

He withdrew back to the main part of the cavern, drawing feral stares from the Hunters he passed, but they were under orders not to harm either of the two strangers among them. Faerie-made fires burned brightly without the need of wood or smoke, and Rayce circled around to the far side of the area until he found one that was unattended.

Alone, he stretched out in front of the crackling flames after divesting himself of his staff. The blades glittered in the light and he absently stroked his fingers down the steelwood shaft, taking comfort in the familiarity of its feel as his mind wandered to seek a solution to the impasse with the Lord of the Hunt.

A shadow slipped out of the glare of the light in front of him resolved itself into the Hunter that had sat astride the white horse behind Gwyn. In the better light, Rayce was shocked to see it was the Hunter who had fought him in that first tournament so many years ago. His fingers tightened around his staff but the Hunter raised his left hand and the firelight gleamed across an ugly scar on his palm. "Stay your hand, princeling. I'm not here to fight you. I've learned that lesson."

"Then why have you come?"

The Hunter's voice dropped down to a whisper as he crouched at Rayce's side. "I listened to your words and came to tell you there might be another way to bring the Hunt to your sister."

Rayce's eyes widened. "How?"

"Gwyn's cloak. Whoever wears it commands the Hunt. Make it yours, and we will be yours as well." He rose swiftly, looking left and right to make certain that no one had overheard him, and then he melted back into the darkness around the cavern, nodding once to Rayce.

His thoughts raced. If he could order the Hunters to fight for his sister, there would be no chance that they would fail. These were the fiercest and most brutal warriors in the Faerie realm. Malchezed's forces wouldn't stand a chance against them once Arynessa brought the power of the Seelie crown to bear in their defence.

 _Sera_. He thought of where she lay sleeping and trying desperately to dream a solution for them. It wasn't her fight to win, not this time. She had already done so much; he could do this one thing for them alone. What if she woke and came looking for him while he tried to steal the cloak? It could spell disaster. She wouldn't approve of this reckless plan; he was certain of it.

He pushed himself up, slinging his staff across his back once more, and left the fire behind, his mind made up. The alcove materialized in the darkness and he crouched down soundlessly next to where she lay breathing softly in her bed of moss. Her hair spilled out around her and it made Rayce ache to see her so vulnerable, so much like she had when he had seen the sunrise kiss her body for the first time. He flipped the pack open and drew out the stele that Zeke had packed for him. He hadn't used it once since fleeing the Seelie Court, and regretted the use to which he was going to put it now. He hoped that she would forgive him once this was over.

The tip of the stele hovered over her forearm where it lay outstretched, and Rayce took a deep breath before he sketched a lightning quick Sleep rune. Sera's eyes flew open and she gasped in pain as the stele burned the Mark into her, and she only had a second to see Rayce looking down at her with sad eyes, to whisper his name in disbelief, as the rune forced her back into a sleep from which she would not wake for hours yet.

 _She'll be safe_ , Rayce told himself as guilt twisted his stomach uneasily. He gently tucked her arm back under his stolen cloak and turned away, already steeling himself for what was to come. Eyes of black and silver watched him go from the shadows.

Rayce finished Marking himself with the stele, wincing as the runes burned along his flesh. He'd become so accustomed to Sera's touch that it felt like he was being Marked for the first time again. He accepted the pain as part of his penance for deceiving Sera, telling himself that he had earned this when he had decided to risk stealing the cloak. Gwyn would be the most dangerous foe he had ever crossed blades with if he failed to acquire the mantle by stealth, and losing could mean his life. He couldn't bear the thought of her paying that price for him, made an accomplice to a plot she wouldn't support.

He slipped through the tunnel that Gwyn had taken earlier and moved soundlessly in the darkness, _nyx_ rune granting him night vision. The first few rooms that branched off the tunnel were empty and he wondered how far Gwyn might have come. He wouldn't do Sera any good if he got himself lost in the tunnels.

Just when he thought he might need to turn back he saw a faint flickering light of Faerie fire ahead, and he poked his head through a doorway to see a dark shape sprawled on the floor. Gwyn. He was laying on his back, one hand resting on the hilt of the blackened sword at his side, the other arm thrown out over his head. The fire was burning very low. Gwyn's breathing was deep and even, and Rayce despaired. This wasn't going to be easy.

Cancelling the _nyx_ rune, he fixed his eyes on the lower edge of the cloak under Gwyn and visualized _shifting_ forward to take a hold of it and pulling it up and over as hard as possible to try to roll the Hunter over. He might be able to tear it away if he was quick enough.

Rayce took a measured, calming breath and centred himself, letting the moment slow until he felt it click.

In an instant, he _shifted_ forward, snatching up the edge of the cloak as planned, but he never even got the chance to yank it up. The scarred length of Gwyn's sword whistled up at Rayce's head and he was forced to vanish. He hadn't even had the time to bring his staff up before Gwyn was on his feet in a defensive stance.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" All traces of the gentle giant that Gwyn normally bore were melting away, and his face took on a terrifying cast in the dim light of the fire.

"What I must," Rayce answered, _shifting_ again to get behind Gwyn for another shot at ripping the cloak away. The black sword clanged as it made contact with Rayce's staff, the Hunter already spinning around even as Rayce had vanished. Gwyn heaved his weight behind his sword and the prince was thrown backwards, off balance. He quickly _shifted_ again to regain his footing at a safe distance.

"You don't know what it means to wear this cloak, princeling. It has been my burden to bear for centuries."

Rayce _shifted_ in above the Lord of the Hunt to drop down on his shoulders and force him to the ground, but once again, he anticipated the move and sidestepped away, keeping Rayce in sight.

"I won't let them die, Gwyn, not while I live. Not while I can command the Hunt to fight for them."

Another _shift_ brought him in low from behind Gwyn, the shaft of his staff sweeping at the big man's legs to take him down. One great boot lifted and kicked out at the incoming staff, deflecting the blow and sending Rayce spinning out, forcing him to _shift_ again to regain his feet safely.

"You won't take this cloak if you aren't willing to kill for it, boy. This isn't some tournament match. Walk away while still you can and I'll let you and your woman live."

Rayce shook his head, looking down at his hands. The firelight sparked off the Morgenstern ring on his right hand and his chest tightened. He could hear his father's words to him at the lake, ' _You can't deny your blood, my son. It's in your veins and in your heart, and so, too, am I'._ Rayce tightened his hands around the shaft of his staff and felt the weight of the silver band, the weight of the Morgenstern legacy behind him. " _The only place you will have is the one you carve out for yourself. In blood."_

He snarled and leaped forward, blades spinning.

Sera's eyes darted back and forth under her closed eyelids where she lay trapped in her dreams. She had hoped to see what they would do next, and now she was a prisoner in her own mind, forced to watch what was happening.

 _Rayce slashed out with one end of his staff, cutting a wide arc at the Hunter, but the blade was turned swiftly by the black sword. He kept his forward momentum, turning on his lead foot to bring the other end of his staff around hard and fast to slice at Gwyn's midsection, but was blocked again._

" _I've had years to watch you, boy." Gwyn taunted as he returned to a defensive crouch._

 _Rayce said nothing, only spinning forward again, his blades coming in unpredictably at the big man, and still they were parried, but it was what he wanted, and he vanished before the last parry landed, reappearing behind the Hunter to carry his last swing forward. Gwyn only just managed to get his left forearm up to deflect the blow, where it skipped across his mail and bit into the back of his hand, leaving a gash that began bleeding immediately._

 _Rayce's expression was grim as he saw the blood, but he didn't relent,_ shifting _again and again to keep changing the angle of his attack. The Hunter turned expertly, centuries of experience in battle giving him the insight he needed to correctly anticipate each rush. The black blade started to glow faintly as Gwyn continued to parry and block the incoming blows._

 _With only a thought, Rayce changed the game by splitting his staff into its two halves, feeling the grip adjust under his hands as he began hailing blows down on the bigger man. The Hunter whipped his injured hand down to his belt to yank a dagger free, but the fraction of a second that it took cost him another slash from one of Rayce's blades, this one to the meat of his left leg. He staggered for just a half step as his weight came down on the torn leg, but his blades were sure as he now wielded both to keep Rayce at bay._

 _Rayce_ shifted _over and over, pressing his advantage, but Sera could see the strain on his face. It was wearing on him to continue to use his ability like this. No other opponent had ever last so long against such an all-out assault._

 _Molten fire suddenly erupted along the length of Gwyn's sword and Rayce was caught off guard for a moment. The sword slashed down, drops of fire trailing in its wake, and Rayce hissed as he drew his shoulder back in pain from the smoking hold in his shirt. The blade looped around for another strike and Rayce forced himself to focus and refuse to be dazzled by it. He_ shifted _around to Gwyn's injured side to swing high with his blades while kicking out with his right foot. As hoped, his weapons were parried, but he landed a solid blow across the slash and Gwyn grunted in pain, dropped to his knee._

 _Rayce darted forward inside Gwyn's guard with his offhand and stripped away the molten sword from the Hunter's grip. Its fires were extinguished as soon as it clattered to the floor of the cavern, and Rayce was forced to lean back nimbly and parry the incoming dagger, but Gwyn couldn't pursue him. The Lord of the Hunt flipped his dagger to his right hand as Rayce_ shifted _back into the melee, but he caught the Shadowhunter a stinging blow across the face with the back of his empty left hand._

 _The taste of blood filled Rayce's mouth, both his own and Gwyn's where it had smeared across from the gash on the back of his hand. He spun back on the big man in a heartbeat, his blade driving for the Hunter's breast, but he_ shifted _at the last moment and the blow landed from behind, the enchanted blade shearing through cloak and mail alike._

 _In her dream, Sera screamed in horror as the Lord of the Hunt's eyes widened in surprise and pain, and his hands came up almost as if he could push the blade back and undo the fatal wound. Rayce's lips were twisted into an ugly snarl, his hands locked on the hilts of the two halves of his staff, and his eyes burned in the near darkness. He yanked his blade back viciously and Gwyn sagged on his knees, his dagger falling to the cavern floor._

 _One great hand came up and fumbled with the clasp of his cloak and it fell away from one shoulder. He held it out a few inches with his failing strength, and Rayce flashed forward to take it from him, eyes glittering darkly._

" _Rayce Morgenstern," Gwyn breathed, a bubble of blood frothing up at his lips, "you are of the Hunt now. Their families are dead. You are their blood kin now. Through my blood, let your eyes be opened to the centuries and the duty that rests upon your shoulders now."_

 _Some of the fire had faded from Rayce's eyes, his brows knitting together in confusion as he brought up his hand to touch his mouth where Gwyn's blood had mixed with his own._

 _In Sera's dream, it was as if a giant steel trap had snapped shut around Rayce and she screamed again in denial, tears of frustration streaking down her face. Gwyn's mismatched eyes closed and he fell forward, his last breath forced from him as he hit the stone floor._

 _Rayce doubled over and gasped, the cloak seeming to lift in invisible hands and refasten itself around his throat. His hands flew up to the clasp but it would not open. His eyes widened in horror as some of the knowledge that he had inherited with the mantle made it clear that he would only be released in death._

 _Sera closed the distance between them even though she knew it was meaningless, her tears vanishing even as they fell in her dream. Her ethereal hands tried to close around Rayce's as he stood frozen in shock, but she couldn't reach him. When she looked up, she was horrified to see that one of his beautiful green eyes had turned as black as his father's before him._

 _Her dream sucked her down into a black vortex as unconsciousness took her, and she was grateful to the oblivion that granted her freedom from the nightmare she had left behind._

Rayce looked down at the fallen Lord of the Hunt at his feet. He couldn't process it. This wasn't supposed to happen. A slow clapping made him whip his head around to the doorway, and he saw Kieran leaning against the wall there.

"And now the Hunt is yours to command. Well done."

Rage flared in Rayce's breast, but he kept it under tight rein. He'd already made the biggest mistake of his life tonight by acting without thinking.

"Why?" It was all he could manage without his voice breaking.

"Because now you've lost your beautiful Shadowhunter, too, princeling. Now you're just like me." He sneered at the new Lord of the Hunt.

Rayce walked forward slowly, merging the two halves of his staff once more and reaching back to clip it in place on his harness. He stopped as he came alongside Kieran and fixed his bifurcated gaze on the Hunter. His voice was low and deadly, laced with poison. "I am _nothing_ like you."


	19. Chapter 18

_**18**_

Sera opened her eyes slowly, cocooned in a soft warmth where a shaft of sunlight lay across her body. Clean, white sheets and a new duvet were laid over her, and she stretched out her right arm behind her to find Rayce, rolling over to press herself back against him and maybe bend the no-biting rule a bit.

Her hand drifted over cool, bamboo sheets and she finished rolling over to find the other side of the bed was empty, no crease in the other pillow to show where he had lain. Sera's mind snapped awake as her dream washed over her. Her nightmare.

She brushed the sheet back from her left arm and found the faint white lines of a rune scar there, a rune of Sleep, and the avalanche of horror crashed down. Rayce. The Hunt. The trap. Long after she had watched mutely as Rayce's left eye had had turned black, she'd seen teasing visions of a black snake with dark blue markings, and she had understood; the Hunter she had seen behind Gwyn last night was the one who had done this to Rayce. He had known what the consequences would be, and had done it to sow more misery to grow alongside his own.

Sera felt heat rising in her chest as she fixed that conniving face in her mind. It was the same Hunter that Rayce had defeated a decade ago. That fight should have ended with the dagger Rayce had driven through the Hunter's hand. But something about Rayce had set him off, and it was clear that no one could nurse a grudge like the Fey. Except her.

"I swear by the Angel that you will pay in blood for what you've done, Hunter," she swore softly under her breath, gold eyes blazing in the afternoon light.

She pushed back the covers and swung herself out of bed. She was still wearing Arynessa's white corset and wide, white pants, but she didn't bother to change. She had to find Seraphine.

The diminutive warlock was working at the kitchen counter where the three of them had shared grilled cheese just a few days ago. How had it all gone so wrong? Seraphine looked up as she came around the corner and immediately dropped down from the bar stool to wrap her arms around the Shadowhunter.

"I'm so sorry, Sera," she whispered, squeezing her friend.

Sera hugged her back wordlessly and felt tears in her eyes before she brushed them away angrily. She wasn't going to sit here and cry. She dropped her hands gently.

"You saw him?"

Seraphine nodded sadly. "He landed on the balcony on a great black horse with fire in its eyes and at its hooves. You were in his arms, wrapped in that dark cloak, and I feared the worst. I thought you were dead, Sera, but the truth was so much harder to bear.

"I opened the balcony door and I could see others riding the winds, and then I knew. That black, scarred sword was belted at his waist when he slid down from his mount. Gwyn's sword. His now, I suppose." Seraphine felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"He laid you in bed like you were the most precious thing in the world, Sera, and the look in his eyes genuinely scared me when he asked me to take care of you. It was more than seeing one of them gone black – the darkness of the Hunt is in him now, and I dare say it's finding fertile ground to work with in his Morgenstern blood."

"No." Sera held up her hand. "His blood doesn't make him good or evil, Seraphine. I don't care who his father was. I know who _he_ is. He's coping the only way he can, by trying to be what everyone expects him to be." She looked at the clock on the stove, which showed it was already quarter past four and she shook her head. "I've completely lost track of how much time is left until they attack. I don't even know how to figure it out with the time zones and Faerie time, but I have to try to reach him, Seraphine."

The warlock shook her head. "You can't, Sera. He told me why he did it; I know he's gone to fight with his sister to retake the Seelie Court. You can't be anywhere near there when it happens – a Shadowhunter in a nest of warring Fey? Imagine what it would do to him if you were killed."

"Imagine what this is doing to me _right now_!"

Seraphine took the girl's hand. "He'll come back when it's over, Sera. When it's safe."

She pulled her hand away. "I don't want to be safe. I want to murder some Faeries..." Her eyes narrowed. "One, in particular." Sera spun around and ran to the front door, wrenching the handle with unnecessary force as she yanked at the door. It didn't budge. She checked the lock and tried again. Still nothing. Her palm flared with heat as an opening rune burned into the door and then fizzled in a wisp of pink smoke. She whirled around, platinum streaks in her golden hair catching the light as she fixed her eyes on the tiny warlock now leaning against the wall in the hallway.

"I made a promise to him, Sera, and he was right to ask for it. Right about now, I'd imagine you're ready to go grab a wad of cash and weapons and show up on Otherios' doorstep to scare him half to death and force him to lead you to the Seelie Court. Quite aside from ruining a relationship you might need once you've cooled down, what can you do?"

"I can... I..." Sera sagged back against the sealed door and slid to the floor. "I can't just _sit_ here, Seraphine. I have to know what's happening."

The warlock closed the distance between them and crouched down. "Then use your gift, Sera. He's back in the Courts, just like he always was. You've never wanted anything so badly as you want to see what happens tonight. Focus your sight; I will help you sleep. Watch from a safe distance. Be here when he returns. Getting yourself killed now means you can't help him later."

"Help him?"

"There's no magic in this world that cannot be undone, Sera. If there's a way to free him from the Hunt, I would even swear by your Angel that I will help you find it. Just don't do anything stupid until then, okay?"

Sera reached out and gathered her friend into a crushing embrace. "We're going to fix this, Seraphine. _Whatever it takes._ "

"Whatever it takes," the warlock promised.

Sera returned to the guest room and slipped back under the covers. It seemed unthinkable that she would be trying to sleep again after what had likely been at least 12 hours of rest, maybe more, but Seraphine was right. She had to be smart. No charging off in a useless act of heroism, no matter how much better it would make her feel. She would settle for being with him the same way she had always been with him for last 11 years – in her dreams.

She rolled onto her left side, arm flung out as she felt Seraphine's gentle touch on her back. Sera's right hand began anxiously tracing the rune scar on her left forearm, her fingers sliding over the slightly raised lines over and over as she began focusing her gift. Seraphine had been right; she'd never felt this level of need with her gift before. She was strangely calm – all the horror and panic was locked away where it couldn't distract her now.

She closed her eyes, still tracing the scar Rayce had given her. It was tangible proof that the past week hadn't been just another dream. She saw him in her mind's eye, that first terrifying glimpse of him in real life as he'd yanked her toward him by her whip in the parking garage. She had hardly been able to breathe once she'd had him in front of her, living and breathing in the flesh at last. Feeling his hands close on her throat just as she had cried Zeke's pass phrase had been both a thrill of terror and wonder. He was _real_.

A pink haze started to creep in around the edges of the theatre of her mind and she heard Seraphine humming softly behind her. More images of Rayce flashed past her eyes. Him practically falling over the armchair in Seraphine's bedroom the first time he had seen her as she truly was. Laying quietly in this bed with him when she had lain next to him for the first time. Her prince hastily rescuing her grilled cheese from burning. His whisper in her ear at the Faerie checkpoint, ' _have faith'._

She felt a tear slide down across her temple. Rayce killing the four Faerie guards in the blink of an eye as they escaped from the tunnels into Idris. The pain on his face in the graveyard of Alicante as he saw the scope of the devastation caused by his father. Seeing him sprawled across the floor of the Consul's office for nothing more than his name. Captured by the werewolves for nothing more than his face.

Her fingers slowed in their tracing circuit as she called up the memories of their night together before entering the Rift. The feel of his body against hers, his mouth as warm and soft as she had always imagined, his hands even more gentle and strong than she had ever fantasized. They had given themselves to each other completely, and that had been the end of any chance of ever turning back. He was _hers_ , and she was his.

Seraphine's magic reached the tipping point and gently pushed the Shadowhunter over the edge, sending her spiralling back into the world of dreams to find the other piece of her heart.

Alicante stretched out below Rayce, demon towers reaching up into the night sky in the hour after sunset, and witchlight bathed the city in a soft glow that pulled at his heart. It was said that even Shadowhunters who weren't raised in the City of Glass could still feel the tug of coming home, that Alicante was in the blood of the Nephilim. He brushed the thought away; he didn't have a home now.

His mount galloped through the air silently, hooves flashing with fire as they circled above the Gard. Rayce was hesitant to try his luck there again so soon, especially after the last disaster. The back-up plan last time had been to try to find the Consul's home, and it seemed like an easier place to start this time. He would be able to take control of the Consul easily, and force him to retrieve the crown from the adjacent Gard.

With Gwyn's memories to augment his own, he now knew that the Consul's state-provided home fronted the same square as the Gard, and he could see that most of its windows were dark. He guided his steed down to a stonework balcony off the back of the Victorian-style manor, silently thankful that he had ordered the rest of the Hunters to go on ahead and wait for him near the edge of the Seelie Court.

Rayce swung himself out of his black leather saddle and landed lightly, willing his mount with a thought to disperse back into the ether once more until he summoned it again. He pulled out the stele that he both loved and loathed and drew a quick Opening rune on the glass doors of the balcony. On one hand, it was a connection to Sera, but on the other, he had used it _against_ her. And he knew that she would bear the scar of that betrayal, her only rune scar, as a reminder of his mistake every day.

He stepped inside the home and found himself in a library or office of sorts, the walls lined with bookshelves and a beautiful desk covered in documents stood directly in front of the doors. _Does the Consul ever do anything but work?_ Moonlight and witchlight from outside provided a faint illumination in the room, and Rayce waited for his eyes to adjust. A _nyx_ rune might work, but he would prefer not to be blinded if he encountered any unexpected light.

In a moment, Rayce felt his entire body freeze and the Consul slid through the doorway with deadly grace, an arrow knocked, drawn and sighted at his chest. The warlock from the prison cells followed him, hands glowing with blue light as he maintained the binding spell. Both were only half-dressed, as if awakened suddenly with no time for clothes.

Rayce sighed inwardly. It would never be any different for him.

" _You._ What are you doing here? We were expecting Clave assassins." The Consul lowered his weapon, the muscles across his bare chest and in his arms relaxing. He nodded at the warlock, and the binding spell eased slightly. Rayce was confused by this reaction.

"I've returned for the Seelie crown. My sister and I will lead the attack against the Unseelie tonight."

Alec crossed the room and lit two of the witchlight lamps, splashing light across the room, allowing them to get a good look at Rayce where he stood wrapped in the cloak of the Hunt, blackened sword belted at his waist and staff slung across his back.

"That cloak..." Magnus breathed, eyes widening in recognition. "What happened?"

"I lead the Hunt now," Rayce answered, the emotions tied to those words still too raw to go into detail. "They will fight for my sister and help us retake the throne. She will wield the power of the Seelie crown in our defense."

"But taking on the mantle of the Hunt is..."

"Forever. I know that now."

Both warlock and Consul grew quiet as the sadness in those words washed over them. They both knew what Sera had written about Rayce, as much as Alec had read, and seeing him here now without her said more than he ever could about it.

Rayce changed to subject hurriedly to avoid thinking about his loss. "Why were you expecting assassins?"

Alec shook his head, and the warlock dropped the binding spell completely. "It would appear that my term of office has come to an unexpected and abrupt end."

He and the warlock, who was introduced as Magnus Bane ('Magnus the Magnificent', he had insisted), gave Rayce a quick summary of what had happened in Alicante after he and Sera had escaped, and Rayce felt his heart sinking at what the ripples of his arrival had caused in their wake.

"Everything I touch turns to poison." He shook his head. "I'm more like my father than I knew."

Alec stepped forward and took Rayce's shoulder, his intense blue eyes earnest as they looked back into the green and black stare. "Your father would never have sacrificed himself to save his family, Rayce. Don't let his shadow fall across your life. You're your own man. It's not your name that defines you; it's your deeds."

"Pretty words, Consul," Rayce said, shaking off the comforting hand, "but I'm running short on time. We need to get in and out of the Gard quickly."

Magnus shook his head. "No, we don't. Which is fortunate, considering Alec is under house arrest." Alec pointed to a Mark at the juncture of his shoulder to emphasize the point, the ugly rune designed to keep him from leaving the residence it was paired with. Magnus smiled sheepishly. "I have the Seelie crown here. Purely for academic study, I assure you."

The warlock left the two Shadowhunters in the library with a swirl of burgundy silk dressing robe. Rayce regarded the Consul quietly in the silence that followed. _Former Consul now_ , _I suppose._ He wondered where the man found the strength to hold himself together after losing everything he had worked so hard for. Rayce was surprised to find himself admiring the courage it would take to wait stoically for the proverbial axe to fall, to bear it with grace and dignity. He hoped that he would be able to find it within himself to do the same, to accept the mantle he wore and the burden it carried.

Alec was studying Rayce in turn, slightly awed by the simple fact that the younger Shadowhunter must have defeated Gwyn in single combat to take the cloak. Even if he hadn't known the full scope of the consequences for doing so, he had still taken the chance and risked his life for a shot at wresting even temporary control of the Hunt away from Gwyn. He must have known that the price of failure would be death. He had done it for love of his family, for his own sense of honour. Alec couldn't imagine anything further from Sebastian Morgenstern's own twisted motivations. He prayed to the Angel that Rayce would stay true to his heart.

"I was wrong about you," Alec ventured quietly.

"Maybe it's too early to tell."

Magnus returned then, holding the crown lightly. It still looked like scrap metal, maintaining the appearance it had taken from the last one of Fey blood to hold it. "I remember it looking _much_ better on your mother, biscuit."

 _Biscuit?_ Rayce let it slide.

"My mother was a better Queen than you know."

"Oh, I know _plenty_ -"

"Magnus," Alec cut in, "Now's not the time for that."

The warlock huffed.

Rayce took the crown in his hands and looked down at the circlet. It was almost a joke that it was he who had ended up with it. Bael should have held it by rights; Malchezed had craved the power it would grant him; Arynessa would wear it before either of them; but it was Rayce who held it now, taken by his own hands. He pulled one of the loops of his belt through it and then let his cloak settle over the crown, hiding it from view.

"I wish there was something I could do to help you here, Consul," Rayce offered as he crossed back through the warlock-woven wards at the glass doors.

Alec nodded in appreciation. "Fix what's going on down there and that will be enough."

The Lord of the Hunt smiled sadly as he summoned his steed with a thought and mounted easily.

"Will it?"

Arynessa waited patiently, the blue-white light of the ley line network falling across the knee-length black and gold dress she had donned for the battle. The gold elements were woven with protective spells, and the filigree of the design across her bodice was ensorcelled to turn any weapon. Thigh-high leather boots would protect her legs and leave her a free range of movement. Her hair was bound back from her face, tumbling down her back instead. She was only armed with a pair of knives and her own magic, in anticipation of holding the Seelie crown. She had waited a long time for this day.

The courtiers who had sworn themselves to her had been able to take the ley line terminus easily, overwhelming the guards here in moments while they held the advantage of surprise. They had secured the platform for the rest of the Fey to join them, and a few scouts had been sent out into the surrounding tunnels to ensure that they were not surprised by any Unseelie.

She tried to imagine what Rayce would have to say to convince Gwyn to join them. The Hunter had been carefully neutral between the two Courts for centuries, as required by the vow he had taken when the mantle had first been settled across his shoulders so long ago. The Unseelie King had been very cautious when he had conceived the magic for the Hunt in the beginning, his foresight allowing the Hunters to become a wonderful tool for the Faerie realm, with all the checks in place to ensure that the hound could never bite its master's hand.

Solarius had kissed her softly when she had left the Rift, remaining behind to ensure that they would be able to retreat safely if anything went wrong. He couldn't afford to allow the Rift to slip into chaos, and he knew very well that there were many who might try to exploit any lapse in supervision. He had whispered his confidence in her abilities and prayed for her swift victory. This was her battle to fight.

She eased the pair of daggers in their sheaths at her waist and continued to wait for her brother to bring the Hunt. He had been raised to be dutiful; she didn't think for a moment that he would fail her. A commotion in the tunnel leading to the Court snapped her out of her reflection and a smile spread across her lips as Rayce stalked through, brushing off the hands of those courtiers brave enough to try to make him wait to see her.

"Brother," she greeted him with pleasure until he drew close enough for her to properly see the mantle across his shoulders. Then her smile slipped and her eyes widened in surprise. "What did you do?"

"What I had to." His answer was clipped, his tone dark. This was not the same brother she had seen barely a day earlier, the one with love in his eyes for his beautiful Shadowhunter. Arynessa stilled her features and suppressed the shiver that was tingling across the backs of her arms.

Hunting horns wailed in the distance and his eyes found hers, one green, one black, and she had to mask her horror at seeing him like this. "The Hunt has begun the attack, sister. We must move now while Malchezed is looking the wrong way." His voice was distant. He swept aside his cloak to unfasten the Seelie crown from where it hung low against his hip. It was an ugly circlet of tarnished metal, and she felt her heart sink.

"Do you think so little of us, brother?" she whispered.

"Less with every passing day. My love was for you, Zeke, Bael, and mother. I was long ago disabused of the thought that the rest of our people might come to love me as well."

Arynessa bowed her head and bit her lip. "I will not forget your sacrifice for us, Rayce."

He held out the crown to her, but did not release it when she closed her hand around the circlet, pulling her closer instead so that he could whisper, "See that you don't."

He let the crown go, and it's appearance immediately began to change, melting and flowing in her hands. When it had a finished, a slimmer, lighter crown had taken it's place, silver shining brightly around a simple pattern of diamonds and amethysts. It was much more subtle than their mother's had been, but Rayce felt some part of his shattered heart sigh with relief that she would serve the throne well.

Rayce hurriedly applied a few more Marks as she secured the crown to her belt for safekeeping until the bonding could be completed in the throne room. When she had finished, she looked back up into her brother's disconcerting eyes. "I'm ready."

"Then stay close to me, sister."

Rayce led them out into the tunnels, his shoulders seeming broader under Gwyn's cloak as it swirled behind him. _No,_ his _cloak,_ Arynessa thought to herself. The courtiers followed them easily, and how could they not? The aura of command that radiated from him now was almost palpable in the air. He had been trained to be a prince of the Courts, tutored by his brother in the subtleties of leadership, but Arynessa had never been given an opportunity to see him like this. He was focused with deadly intent, like an arrow pointed straight at Malchezed, and the others could feel it in him.

Arynessa paced along just behind her brother and to the right, and the courtiers followed silently, all of them gliding through the tunnels left mostly deserted by the threat of the Hunt in the opposite direction. That would change once they got closer.

No sooner had she had the thought than they turned a bend right into a pack of Unseelie warriors and Rayce pulled his staff in less than a heartbeat, spinning into the group without a moment of hesitation. The furthest warrior only just managed to spark a warning signal to life that raced like lightning back along the tunnels toward the Court before Arynessa dropped him with a hurled handful of flames. The other four Unseelie were already bleeding out into the hard-packed earth of the tunnel.

Rayce started to jog forward faster, turning to make sure that everyone else was following. That signal would bring more of the Unseelie down on them; they had to move faster. They passed a side corridor that led to the hot spring cavern, and more Unseelies came pounding up the main tunnel.

He _shifted_ forward, cloak swirling as he spun and attacked low, cutting hard at the legs of the first Faerie in his way. He vanished before any counterattack could land, leaving wisps of black smoke in his wake as he continued to turn and _shift_ , keeping his enemies off balance. Over half were down when he turned to see Arynessa sink one of her blades into another warrior who had come up with a group from the hot spring tunnel.

Rayce sighed impatiently and _shifted_ back to her side, where he closed his arms around her, holding onto her with both his mind and body as he _shifted_ them both forward, past where he had been fighting, separating them from the courtiers who were struggling to keep up. "We have to move faster," he snarled. "Staying with them will only slow us down."

Arynessa nodded, taken aback by this cold, fierce man who had replaced her gentle brother. Together, they began running flat out down the tunnel.

Unseelies appeared at regular intervals now, and each time, Rayce blew through them like the wind, staff slashing out as he vanished and reappeared with ease. His cloak flared out around him as he _shifted_ back and forth between clearing the way and defending his sister against possible attack, sometimes embracing her to move them forward as far as he could see, continuing to lengthen the distance between them and the courtiers they had left behind.

The princess was almost breathless from the exertion of running, fighting, and feeling as though she was being squeezed through the eye of a needle every time Rayce took them forward with his gift. Her head was spinning and she tried to imagine having to fight through this without her brother acting as both her sword and shield. He, on the other hand, didn't even look like he was breathing hard. Blood had spattered across his throat, and more was streaked through his white hair, and she couldn't reconcile this image with the boy who had been filled with his conviction that Gwyn would do what was right. Part of her wished that the massive Faerie had, if only so that she would not have to see Rayce like this. He had finally become the killer that their mother had always dreamed of.

They were very near the side-entrance to the throne room that their mother had favoured, and Rayce had just dispatched the last of the most recent knot of Unseelies when Arynessa drew up short. Rayce turned his bifurcated gaze on her as she freed the crown from her belt.

"I'll go around through the main entrance and distract him. Get to the throne, sister, or all of this will be for nothing." He turned and vanished. No goodbye. No good luck.

She held the crown lightly in her hands and looked down at it. Was it worth the price? Too late to ask now. She edged closer to the doorway so that she could hear Rayce's distraction, a knife held in her other hand just in case there were any more surprises waiting for her.

 _Sera tossed in her enchanted sleep, and she finally felt the pull of the Courts drag at her. She followed the trail eagerly, opening her eyes to see the Seelie throne room laid out before her. It looked much as it had when she and Rayce had stolen the crown, a dark cavern lit by pale white light._

 _This time, though, Malchezed was crouched in front of the throne, his wings flared out, twin warglaives drawn as he watched the main entrance to the throne room warily. The chamber was nearly empty, all of his warriors sent to defend against the Wild Hunt where they were decimating his forces._

 _Sera's heart leaped into her throat as she saw Rayce cross through the doorway, his steps light and graceful as his mismatched eyes locked onto the hulking Unseelie._

" _It's over, Malchezed," he said. "You're finished in the Seelie Court."_

 _Malchezed laughed, his deep voice rolling across the darkened cavern. "Finished? I'm just getting started, boy."_

 _Rayce stalked closer, his staff held ready before him, and he kept his eyes fixed on the big Faerie as goat hooves clattered over the stone, bringing Malchezed further away from the throne. He didn't dare look to the side entrance to see if Arynessa had been able to slip inside yet._

 _He lunged forward, staff whirling, ready to_ shift _behind the tattered black wings at the last second, but Malchezed made no move to defend himself, save only to raise one clawed hand. Rayce watched as it twisted sharply, sending a dark pulse of power across the distance between them, and he immediately stopped, mesmerized._

 _Sera, invisible and intangible, screamed in warning, but Rayce couldn't hear her. She had seen this before, had thought it wouldn't be possible once she had saved him from the Courts. She crossed between them, incorporeal hands pressing against his chest vainly to hold him back, hoping and praying for a miracle like the one in her first dream, where he had been able to see her._

 _Rayce shuffled forward slowly as if asleep, eyes vacant and staring at the dark power pulsing around Malchezed's upraised hand. The Unseelie's face split into a parody of a delighted smile._

" _I've been waiting for_ you _, Rayce," he crooned hypnotically, maintaining the trance. "I've been looking forward to having a new hound at my side."_

 _The Shadowhunter stopped just short of Malchezed's hand and continued staring at the swirl of dark purple and black, lost in the spell. He held still as the Unseelie's clawed hand lowered to spread across his chest, just under the clasp of the cloak of the Hunt. Blackened claws pierced his flesh as Malchezed closed his grip slightly, and Sera screamed in frustration at her inability to stop him._

 _Bright light flooded through the chamber and the cavern walls vanished, replaced by a forest of oak trees. Malchezed's head snapped back to the throne in confusion just in time to catch a thick blast of pure power, ropes of orange, yellow, and white all intertwined to smash into the Unseelie with shattering force._

 _Arynessa stood before the throne, blazing with an aura of power that seemed to ripple down from the shining crown she now wore. She gathered her hands together and thrust them forward for a second strike, hammering another crippling blow at the usurper._

 _Malchezed was fully engulfed by the killing fire, and Rayce fell back a few steps from the intensity of the heat. The Unseelie was screaming in pain and rage as Arynessa launched one final burst and he completely disintegrated, flakes of blackened ash exploding outward from where he had stood._

 _She sagged back into the throne, breast heaving from the amount of power she had wielded. Rayce_ shifted _to the base of the throne._

" _Sister?" he asked tentatively._

 _Her violet eyes found his and she smiled, a smile that grew as the realization of what she had done sank in. "I am well, brother." She pushed herself up into a more dignified posture and looked at where Malchezed's remains were drifting down to land in the carpet of grass around the oak trees. "We did it," she whispered._

 _Rayce reached under his cloak to draw his Hunter's horn and he turned to blow a deep, resonating note to call them back to his side. The fastest of the courtiers Arynessa had gathered were already arriving and filtering into the throne room through the trees, some of them showing signs of battle. She straightened on the throne and radiated confidence._

 _Hunters began creeping in as well, weapons bloodied and eyes bright with the thrill of the Hunt. They slunk off to the far side of the forested chamber and Rayce watched them go with hard eyes, tapping into that part of him that was the Lord of the Hunt to enforce his will on them and keep them in check._

 _A trio of courtiers appeared through the side entrance, two of them supporting an old man while the third escorted prince Baelerithon. Rayce's heart jumped in his chest, though his face did not betray him._ Zeke!

 _Bael approached the throne cautiously, showing a rare flash of true emotion as he saw the cloak across his brother's shoulders. Surprise bloomed in his eyes before he regained control and smoothed his features once more._

" _I confess that I am surprised by this turn of events, sister," Bael said, his eyes flicking sideways to include Rayce in his observation._

" _I'll bet you are, dear brother, though I wonder if even_ you _can bend the truth enough to say that you are 'pleasantly surprised'"._

 _Bael's eyes hardened. "I think it's time you gave me the crown, before you say something you might regret."_

" _No, I don't think so, Baelerithon. If Malchezed didn't give it to you, I don't see why I should." Arynessa's eyes narrowed at her elder brother._

 _Rayce looked at her in confusion. "But I thought-"_

" _-exactly what I wanted you to think," she finished for him. "Keep silent on matters you do not understand."_

 _Most of the remaining courtiers and Hunters had joined their brethren among the trunks of the great oaks, the highborn Fey whispering as they watched the muted conference on the dais._

 _Arynessa rose from the great oak throne smoothly, crown sparkling in the artificial light. She lifted her arms to welcome those who had fought to wrest control of the Seelie Court back from Malchezed's claws._

" _Welcome home, my friends! Together, we have restored a throne torn asunder by treason and treachery! I ask you now to stand witness to the judgement for these crimes." Her eyes fell on Baelerithon, who was breathing shallowly, his eyes filled with hatred as he stared at his sister. She held that gaze with one of her own, eyes blazing as she stabbed an accusatory finger at Bael._

" _Who's hand killed our mother, Bael? Who but you could get close enough to her to betray her trust? Who but you has travelled to the Unseelie Court countless times over the past few years under the guise of strengthening relations? Strengthening your own dark alliances, perhaps. Speak plainly and be judged, brother."_

 _Bael's black eyes darted sideways to where Rayce was standing in shock at the accusations. "Brother," he addressed Rayce, "Surely you aren't fooled by our sister's fanciful story? Call your Hunters to the defence of your Crown prince."_

 _Rayce shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing. "Answer her, Bael. Who's hand killed our mother?"_

 _The seconds hung heavily in the air as all of those gathered waited on his answer, waited to hear him damn himself._

" _Mine," he hissed, lunging forward with a hidden dagger to plunge into his sister's heart. Rayce caught his wrist just as the point was turned by the golden filigree pattern across her dress, Arynessa not even flinching, secure in her confidence both in Rayce and her own enchantments._

 _She spoke to the assembled once more as Rayce locked his brother's arms behind him in a vice grip, face turned away from the inky black wings. "A confession from his own lips! Murderer! Crown prince Baelerithon is not fit to rule, to sit the Seelie throne as our mother had once intended."_

" _What will you do with him?" Rayce asked quietly, for their ears alone, muscles in his arms corded as he held Bael's arms tightly._

" _I was just going to ask you the same thing, brother," she answered softly before lifting her voice again. "For the crime of high treason against the throne, murder, attempted murder, and sedition with the Unseelies, I hereby sentence Baelerithon to exile, to ride with the Wild Hunt for all time to make amends for the damage he has caused. He will be stripped of all of his titles and estates, his possessions remitted to the Crown to help pay restitution to the families of those killed in the days since my mother's murder. Let his name be spoken no more within our Court."_

 _Applause burst out from the courtiers, and jeers from the Hunters who were looking forward to getting their hands on the prince for the brothers they had lost._

 _Rayce's mouth gaped open in disbelief._

" _Arynessa..."_

" _No," she held one slim finger to his lips. "That name will not be spoken anymore either, brother._ I _am the Seelie Queen now."_


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Rayce handed his brother over to a pair of grinning Hunters and gave orders for all of them to gather the fallen, then to await his return to Cadair Idris for the induction of a new member of the Hunt. Bael looked back over his shoulder at Rayce as they shoved him forward, away from the throne, a flash of fear plain on his face. Rayce watched him go with cold eyes.

The chamber felt much more empty without the wild presence of the Hunters, and many of the courtiers began to drift away, presumably to return to their homes and reconnect with loved ones from whom they had been separated.

Once Bael had vanished through the main entrance, Rayce turned back to his sister and asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She reached out to caress his cheek softly, soothingly. "Sweet brother, you have always been better motivated by love than by hatred. Who would know better than I?" Her eyes were kind, but Rayce knew better than to trust the lies in his siblings' faces now. His father's words burned across his memory again, ' _they love to use you'._ And they had.

"Don't despair, brother. I have a gift for you."

His heart lifted. _Can she free me from this curse?_

She looked to her left and gestured for the two courtiers still hanging back there to come forward. Zeke's arms were slung across their shoulders, and he hung, unconscious, in their gentle grasp. His body was old and frail, and they held him easily.

The Seelie Queen reached down to take one withered hand in her own and she bent some of the crown's power to her will, forcing a glowing, white-orange tendril of magic to snake between them. It twisted up his arm and split, dividing over and over as it formed a cocoon of Faerie magic around him that throbbed like a beating heart. When he was completely enfolded within the light, it pulsed, hard, one last time, and the glow vanished.

Rayce gasped. Zeke was restored; young again! The older Shadowhunter was already shaking his head in a daze when the Queen turned back to her brother.

"He will be well again, Rayce, and I will keep him that way so long as you hold Bael. It is not within my power to release him from the Court, but I can promise you that he will be as he was before."

Rayce nodded wordlessly, watching as his tutor gingerly took his own weight back onto a hip that had been shattered by Kylea, and then stood more confidently as it supported him. He flexed his hands and raised his head to find Rayce staring at him.

"I'll give you a moment," the Queen whispered, descending from the dais to mingle with her new subjects, clasping hands and squeezing shoulders in thanks, already spinning her web of support to hold her new crown.

The two courtiers who had been holding Zeke let him go when it was clear that he could stand unaided, and they briefly dipped their heads to the Lord of the Hunt as he approached slowly. Rayce's mismatched eyes shone with the beginning of tears and his hands shook as he reached for Zeke. The older Shadowhunter saw the colour change, his lips parted in comprehension, and he swiftly embraced his student, strong arms holding him tightly.

Rayce felt hot tears slide down his face and he didn't care if any of the remaining courtiers behind him were watching the reunion. He could take this one moment to forget his darker side that had been rising within him. He held onto Zeke as if he were holding onto a piece of himself, burying his face in Zeke's shoulder like he would with a father. Because that's what Zeke had always been to him. Not just a tutor, a best friend, a fellow warrior. A father.

He cried, unashamed of the depth of emotion he was showing, his shoulders shaking under the mantle of the cloak. It felt like everything from the last week was finally crashing down, and Zeke just held him quietly, absorbing all of the unvoiced pain without judgement, siphoning it away until Rayce could bear the weight of it alone.

When Rayce finally drew back, his face was flushed and he felt like he had already told Zeke everything, shared all of what had happened since he had been pushed into the Mundane world.

"It's okay, Rayce. It's alright," he whispered. "Whatever's happened, you made it through alive, kid."

Rayce sniffed and laughed. "You can't call the Lord of the Hunt 'kid'."

"Damn right I can if I want to!" Zeke jabbed a finger at Rayce's chest. "I've smacked your ass before when you needed it – don't think I won't do it again now that you've got that big cloak. If you're acting like an idiot, I'll make sure you can't sit right in that saddle for a week!"

Rayce couldn't help it; he kept laughing, and he felt more of the pain slip away. Zeke watched him with a mix of sadness and pride in his eyes. It wasn't just anyone who could survive trading away their life and love for a lie.

" _Fac fortia et patere_ , Rayce. I know about the girl from her letter, and from what I've heard from Bael about how you stole the crown. I'm pretty sure she means something to you now, and I could feel your loss, but you must _endure_. There's always hope. You're alive."

Sebastian's voice teased him in a whisper that echoed in his mind, ' _you'll do much worse, you'll live.'"_ He thought about what he was doing, condemning Sera to a life spent loving a man she could never be with. A false smile spread across his face for Zeke. "Of course. You're right."

"You tell her this, Rayce: _Aut invenium viam aut faciam."_

Rayce didn't recognize it immediately, but it sounded familiar so he filed it away as he continued the charade of good spirits that had been washed away by the memory of his father's words. "You've got a Latin phrase for everything, don't you?"

Zeke chuckled, oblivious to Rayce's deception. "Oh yeah, goes over big with the ladies. You should _hear_ what I can say in Italian. I'll teach you some good ones to try on Sera once you get everything figured out."

"Deal," Rayce agreed hollowly, nodding. "But you should leave the Courts, Zeke. It won't be safe for you here. Aryn- the Queen said it wasn't in her power to free you. What holds you here? I've always thought it was mother, but that can't be true, now."

His tutor smiled sadly and rubbed at his neck absently, easing the muscles there. "It's not what, it's who, Rayce. I made a choice a long time ago, when I first came to the Courts, and I let myself be bound to him. Leave it be, boy."

"Him?"

Zeke sighed heavily. "Cassius. He's been a better friend than I deserve, and I'm not going to dishonour everything he's done for me by leaving him now." He waved his hand above him, at the ceiling of the chamber. "What would I go back to up there, now, hmm? I've been gone for 40 years. It's in the past. The Courts are my home now, and as odd as it sounds, I _am_ happy here."

"Then that's all I could ever want for you," Rayce said, clasping Zeke's hands in acceptance of his wishes.

"Where will you go now?" Zeke looked worried as he searched the green and black depths of his surrogate son's eyes.

Rayce withdrew his right hand and touched his fingers lightly over his heart before answering simply.

"Home."

Taerynia was running hard, pounding through the tunnels of the Land Under the Hill back to the Unseelie Court. She had lost track of how long she had been running, but she had long-since outdistanced the slaughter behind her. What a disaster. _Hunters!_

She had been close enough to taste death at the hands of the new Lord of the Hunt near the hot spring cavern, but he had abandoned his attack to protect Arynessa, disappearing abruptly to leave her outnumbered by the courtiers following in his wake. She didn't feel a shred of shame for running. She was a survivor.

The corridors on the far side of the Court had been littered with Unseelie dead, and no few Hunters by the looks of it, but she hadn't found any of her kind left alive. The Wild Hunt was well-named.

There was no way that Malchezed was going to survive an assault like this, not with the Queen's son commanding the Hunt. Her hands curled into fists as she ran; she had been first-lieutenant to Malchezed. Now she was nothing. A messenger. And depending on the mood of the Unseelie King when she broke the news, a dead messenger.

It had all seemed so simple in the beginning. Once Baelerithon had been named crown Prince, he had started to feel the crown upon his brow before its time. His mother was in good health and she had deftly manoeuvred her Court out of the mire caused by Sebastian Morgenstern's failed Dark War. Wealth had begun pouring in once more from her wildly successful plan to create the Rift, and new respect for her was growing grudgingly in the hearts of her detractors. She had put her affairs in order once everything had stabilized, guarding against any future upheaval, never realizing that in naming Bael as her heir she had set in motion the events that would lead to her death.

The crown Prince had started looking for options that would secure the throne for him sooner, and he had found fertile ground for his plots in the Unseelie Court. Malchezed had been the commander of the Unseelie warriors for centuries, and he had listened with a sympathetic ear, spinning his lies carefully. Bael was a skilled political adversary, but he was far younger than Malchezed and blinded by his lust for power.

The tunnels around her began changing into solid, dark rock, and Taerynia allowed herself a quick gasp of laughter, her side burning with a cramp, as she remembered the prince's disbelief when Malchezed had double-crossed him and demanded the crown for himself. He had allowed Bael to strike the killing blow against his mother and then given the signal for Taerynia to swiftly advance with the Unseelies. It had been quick and efficient, including the imprisonment of the crown Prince to give him time to come around to their way of thinking.

She clenched her teeth when she allowed herself to remember the embarrassment of having the crown stolen right out from under them. That had ruined everything. And it had clearly been the work of the Queen's half-blood son. Taerynia had personally examined the bodies of the dead and had recognized what those curving slashes and the speed of the kills had meant.

The report she would give to the Unseelie King would not be favourable, but she wouldn't hide anything. He and Malchezed had gambled heavily with this ploy and lost; the Unseelie Court had never been so weakened before. Nearly all of its warriors were slain now, and it would take centuries to repair the damage of this failure. But the Unseelie throne was eternal. It would survive.

Taerynia slowed, breathing hard as she passed into the final stretch before the great cavern that served as the Unseelie throne room. Flickering blue Faerie lights made her electric-blue hair nearly glow, and she took a moment to rake her hands back through the tangle, her tiny talons snagging on knots. She smoothed down her black and red leather armour and tried to make herself look slightly more presentable. With a deep breath, she crossed into the dark cavern.

The throne room was nearly deserted. A few dark shadows marked where Unseelie courtiers were engaged in soft conversation, but Taerynia only had eyes for the throne, and for the dark King that sat upon it, black gaze already fixed on her. Her jaw flexed and she swallowed nervously. It had been easier thinking about this without the King's eyes boring into her.

He rose from his throne and stepped down, one hand gesturing for her to follow him as he left the throne room through a darkened tunnel behind where he had sat. Shadowy courtiers watched with interest in the dim light, but they would not hear her report now.

The room to which she was led was a familiar one. A round, stone table was surrounded by heavy chairs in the nearly bare room, smooth rock walls undecorated, and blue lights burned in wall sconces. The War Room was simplistic, providing a warded space for reports and strategizing, and not much else. The Unseelie King turned to face her and she knelt swiftly, grateful for an excuse to look down and avoid that terrible gaze.

"My King, I have come to report on the disaster that has befallen our forces in the Seelie Court," she started, taking care not the shade the truth. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she spoke, tracing the cracks as she related the events that had led up to today. When she reached the part where the wailing blasts of horns blown by the Hunt had shattered the silence, the King finally interrupted her.

"Gwyn would never betray his people like this. My son's vow prevents it." His voice was low and dark, and Taerynia shivered. She was almost certain that he had begun drawing down power from his crown and it was reacting to his anger. She felt her chest heaving in fear as she imagined what he would do to her if he lost his temper.

"The Hunt no longer follows Lord Gwyn, my King." Her mouth went dry. She had overlooked that bringing this tale to her King would also mean bringing word of his first-born son's death.

The Unseelie King approached soundlessly, long black cape swirling around his feet as he stopped in front of her and stretched out one long, white finger to raise her chin until she was looking into the black pits of his eyes.

"Who leads the Hunt now, Taerynia?" The chill in his voice seeped into the former lieutenant's body, helped along by the King's aura of menace.

"The Queen's half-breed son, my King," she whispered. "Rayce Morgenstern."

The Unseelie King's lips curled up as his face twisted with rage. He withdrew his hand from her chin and she shuddered with relief, shaking visibly now as he turned and stalked away to the far wall of the room.

With a sweep of his hand, he dispelled the illusion of blank stone, and a great map was revealed next to a scrying mirror. "Come," the King bid her, and she scrambled to obey, moving forward until she stood before the map, a step away from him.

It was a map of Idris, with an enlargement of Alicante beautifully rendered in exquisite detail. Hundreds of tiny blue-white dots glowed all over the map, most of them heavily centred in the main part of the city, but others were scattered around the countryside as well. Miniscule writing labelled some of the outlying dots, and she could make out a few of the tags. _Ch_ _â_ _teau Verlac. Herondale Manor. Everdale Estate._ What was this?

As if to answer her unspoken question, the King gestured to the map. "These are all the places where our artisans have worked in Idris over the last quarter of a century, Taerynia. When it started, we never dreamed we would reach so many locations. _"_ He pulled his hungry gaze away from the map to look sideways at her and arch one dark eyebrow.

"Did you know that Alicante is built on one of the largest ley line convergences in the world?"

Taerynia shook her head mutely.

"It is. My orders to the artisans were simple; complete the work with the greatest of care, earn their admiration. With the conclusion of each contract, it was an easy thing for them to slip a few tendrils of magic down into the ley lines lying dormant below and bind their work. More and more requests poured in even after the restorations were complete, and we were able to spread much farther than I had hoped."

A slow smile spread across his lips. "And now it has come to this." He waved a hand at the mirror, and a view of the nighttime sky over Alicante appeared. "I won't let this slip through my fingers now. If the Seelies counterattack to take advantage of our weakness, I will have at least done this."

He turned and gestured sharply with his left hand. The great stone table was ripped from from the floor, and Taerynia quickly shielded her eyes from the burning blue-white light revealed. The Unseelie King stepped into the blaze of magic and bowed his head, hands open and turned palm-out at his sides. He began to chant in their ancient language, but in a dialect too old for Taerynia to recognize.

The harsh syllables ripped at her ears and she clapped her hands over them to block out the sound. She squinted through the brightness that flared all around her King, terrified to continue watching, but too excited to look away.

The Unseelie King's hands began to raise slowly as the cadence of his spell began to speed up. His face was a mask of concentration and his arms began to shake with the force of the power he was drawing. Taerynia fell to her knees as the cavern began to shake, deep rumblings rocking her sideways to one elbow as she continued to clutch at her head to protect her ears.

White light exploded out of the font in which the Unseelie King stood as he completed his cast and thrust both of his fists upward with the final word.

Taerynia blinked rapidly to clear her vision, and it returned in a wash of black and white. She lowered her hands and the first thing she could hear was the unrestrained laughter of the Unseelie King as his black eyes stared into the scrying mirror to watch the skyline of Alicante erupt into flames as the city burned.

An explosion rocked the Consul's home and Alec's eyes flew open for the second time that night. He rolled out of bed quickly and tossed Magnus the burgundy silk robe he had worn earlier. He was still only wearing pajama pants, but there was no time for anything more. The smell of burning was already creeping into the air.

The pair ran out into the hall and stopped short against the railing that overlooked the staircase, frozen with shock. Through the window across from them they could see that Alicante was in flames.

"No..." Alec whispered. Magnus had already started running down the stairs to the west side of the house where smoke was drifting through the hallway. Alec vaulted the railing and dropped down to join his husband. They would face this together.

Magnus rounded the corner to the kitchen and fell back against Alec immediately, the heat washing over him like the blast from an oven. Flames raced along the ceiling with unnatural speed, licking outward greedily and engulfing the ceiling above them.

Blue sparks flicked upward from Magnus' hands, but the orange flames seemed to reach down and devour the warlock's magic, pulsing as they swallowed it.

"We have to get out of here!" Magnus yelled over the roar of the blaze. "This isn't normal fire!" He shoved Alec back toward the main part of the the house, coughing as he inhaled more of the dark smoke.

The flames chased the pair as they fled, crackling up along the wood panelling, igniting couches and curtains, sparing nothing.

Alec fell to his knees in the front entry hall and gasped in pain as the Mark at the juncture of his shoulder flared sharply to prevent him from leaving, the house arrest still in effect though the building burned around him. Magnus reached down to pull him up, but Alec shook his head, coughing violently.

"The rune!" He touched his shoulder. "I don't know where they anchored the other half!"

Magnus' cat eyes widened in comprehension. The anchoring rune for the house arrest sentence was probably inscribed somewhere that hadn't started burning yet, and there was no telling where it was. It wouldn't be very useful if the condemned knew where to find it to erase it. If they waited until it was destroyed, they could both be roasted alive.

Fire swept into the entry, burning up along the edge of the bench against the wall. Alec lunged at the other side of it quickly, climbing to his feet as he swung the whole thing in an arc to smash it against the wall. The piece still dangling from his hand had only a small flame left, and Alec quickly smothered it with the door mat. Without a second thought, he pressed the still-glowing ember into his shoulder, searing away the rune there.

Alec screamed as it burned and he dropped the broken piece of wood, falling to his knees again, close to fainting. Magnus wrapped his arms around him and dragged his husband to the door where the fire had already curled up around the windows that flanked either side of the entry. The door blew off its hinges in a shower of blue magic, and Magnus hauled back on Alec's arms to pull him free from the burning house.

The warlock was coughing and wiping tears from his eyes as he knelt over Alec on the pavement of their walkway. He heard the roof over the west side of their home collapse in a muffled avalanche of fire. It didn't matter.

"Alec. Alec!" Magnus shook him and was relieved to see those beautiful blue eyes flutter open. He could see the reflection of their burning home dancing in his husband's eyes as he stared up at the inferno in horror.

"Jace," he gasped. "You have to get to him. They're just as trapped as I am."

Magnus shook his head. "You mean _we_ have to get to him."

"No. I can't leave now. _Sed lex-_ " Magnus' hand slapped over Alec's mouth.

"Don't even think about finishing that. You can't help anyone if you're dead or imprisoned, Alec."

The Shadowhunter hesitated as he looked back and forth between his husband and the flaming ruin of their home.

"If we leave now... we'll be exiles, Magnus."

Magnus pulled Alec into his arms and his magic surrounded them, ready to take them to Herondale Manor.

"History will remember you as heroes."

Clary jerked awake when she heard an explosion of shattering glass rip through the manor. Jace whipped the sheets back and leaped out of bed in his boxers. Their eyes locked.

"The kids," they said together.

She snatched up her stele from the bedside table and ran to keep up with him as he flew out into the hallway.

Whenever the Herondales were home, it was almost guaranteed that Hunter Lightwood would be staying over, spending every waking minute with Aspen, and nearly every sleeping minute, too. They had adopted Clary and Simon's old habit of staying up late in bed staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers stuck to the ceiling of her room as they talked about everything they could imagine. Clary could hardly tell him off for sleeping over, and Simon hadn't even tried to talk to his son about it. It had been more of a fatherly pat on the shoulder and that had been the end of it.

Aspen's room was on the far side of the house, overlooking the glass conservatory, and Clary's heart was gripped with fear as she looked through one of the hall windows and saw flames licking upward from her studio.

Screams came from the door at the end of the hall and Jace wrenched it open.

Fire had completely engulfed the exterior wall of Aspen's room, and she was on her knees, heaving at her fallen bureau, screaming and crying in the smoke. Jace could see a tanned arm flung out from under it and understood immediately. _Hunter_.

He wedged his hands under the edge of the bureau and strained upward, lifting the heavy piece of furniture off the boy long enough for Aspen to drag him out. Hunter was unconscious and blood trickled from his mouth and nose, but there was no time to look for anything more.

Clary rushed through the door and clapped her hand over her mouth in shock before reaching for her daughter. Smoke rolled over them and the flames raced along the walls and ceiling, stickers curling and blackening in the heat. Aspen's bed went up in flames as Jace swooped down to lift Hunter into his arms, coughing while he hunched over the boy to stay as low as possible.

The four of them staggered down the stairs and saw that the first floor was being rapidly consumed by the unnatural fire, spreading from its source in the conservatory. The air was clearer down here, and they stopped for a moment near the library.

"Jace!" Clary's hand shot out to grab his shoulder, where the rune the Clave had carved into him was fading to white, it's inky blackness draining away. She slid the strap of her green nightgown aside to see that hers was fading as well, and she understood immediately. The anchor must have been consumed by the fire.

"Let's go!" She shouted.

They barrelled out the front door onto the rolling lawn of the estate, bare feet slipping in the wet grass as they retreated a safe distance from the blaze.

"Hunter!" Aspen pulled at her father's arm and he knelt to lay the boy down gently. Hunter was breathing weakly, the sound wheezing in his chest, but he didn't open his eyes. "No! HUNTER!" Aspen screamed. "Mom, help him!"

Clary's hands were shaking as she collapsed in the grass next to her daughter's parabatai-to-be. She closed her eyes and grabbed hold of her gift, pouring strength into the _iratze_ that she drew with the stele clutched in her hand. She exhaled heavily when it was completed, waiting.

The rune seemed to melt, black lines running down Hunter's shoulder impotently, and it refused to bond with the boy. Aspen screamed his name again, tears streaking her face in the firelight of the manor blazing away behind them.

She snatched the stele from her mother's hand, set the tip of it over his heart, and she began drawing a rune there. Clary's heart sank for her daughter, knowing that she could not yet match the power that Clary had, but it wasn't an _iratze_ taking shape on the boy.

Aspen's breath came out in gasps as she fought to control the sobs. The moment she finished the rune on his chest she grabbed his hand and wrapped it around the stele, pressing it back over her own heart as she traced the twin of the first rune there.

Two black parabatai runes gleamed darkly in the glow of the flames and Aspen dropped the stele, falling across her best friend in a heap as she prayed to the Angel, willing her strength to be enough for both of them, begging the parabatai bond to form.

She could hear his heart beating slowly where she lay, and she felt her fingers dig into his side. _Don't go. Don't leave me, Hunter._ The fresh rune across her heart burned and blazed as if he had heard her, and she felt a new drain on her energy, weakness spreading through her body even as her strength flooded into his.

Hunter stirred under her and she pushed herself up breathlessly. His blue eyes cracked open and took in her tear-stained face first and then the black rune above the neckline of her tank top.

"Aspen?" he whispered weakly.

Relief crashed through her, and she couldn't find the words to answer him as she plucked the stele back up from the grass and went to work healing her parabatai.

A flash of blue light lit the grass twenty feet to their left. Clary turned to see Alec and Magnus suddenly appear, and Jace ran to their side immediately, kneeling down and taking his parabatai's hand. Alec felt stronger at once, and Magnus helped him sit up carefully as he looked at the conflagration that had consumed Herondale Manor.

"The Unseelie," Magnus said quietly as he watched the house burn. "There's no other explanation."

"What do you mean?" Clary asked, casting a glance over her shoulder to see that Aspen had revived Hunter enough that they were talking softly.

"The fire, the locations, the scope... It's everywhere they ever had a contract. This is power from the ley lines, I can feel it." He shook his head. "They must have connected the homes as they worked, waiting to send one big surge through the system to blow it all sky-high."

"The city?" Jace queried.

"The same," Alec said bitterly. "It's all burning."

"By the Angel..." Clary whispered.

Jace shook his head, only the ghost of his smile left on his face as he clapped his hand to Alec's shoulder. "Well. Everett's gonna have a hell of a first day on the job."

A crack of thunder jolted Sera awake to the sound of a summer storm lashing against the windows of the condo. Lightning flashed in the darkness and she felt her breath catch. _Rayce._ Seraphine had said that he had promised to return when it was over.

She slid out of bed, bare feet padding across the carpet, still wearing Arynessa's clothes. She ghosted through the room in the darkness and found the apartment deserted. A single, squat red candle burned on the breakfast bar and Sera felt a wave of appreciation for her warlock friend, who had clearly left to give them some privacy.

She left the overhead light off in the bathroom, relying on the nightlight as she leaned over the sink to splash some water on her face and wash away the sheen from her long sleep. She almost sighed with relief as she brushed her teeth, opening her eyes to look at her reflection in the dim light.

How different it was now. When she had last stood in front of this mirror she had been shrouded in a glamour, scrubbing his blood off her hands and hating herself for the lie in her appearance. Could she even remember being afraid to show him who she was? Had she really ever worried that he would only love her face and not her heart? She'd been an idiot. She'd trade it all – the dreams, the glamours, the runes, all of it – just to have him back the way he had been.

She spat the toothpaste into the sink and turned the tap on, watching it swirl away just like her future with him. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling impatiently as she commanded them not to fall. She cranked the water off and left the bathroom.

The apartment seemed even more empty without Seraphine or Rayce. Lightning flashed, showing vacant couches where they had all sat together to plan the mission to steal the crown. The light from the red candle burned brightly and Sera sank down into the same side of the couch where she had found Rayce curled up. _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ was still laying on the coffee table, his page carefully marked. She reached out to pick it up, trying to feel his hands on the book with hers. _Do Hunters ever read?_

Before she could begin to cry at the thought, she heard a clatter of hooves on the balcony and her heart leaped. A black horse tossed its head, flames streaming from its eyes and sparking up from where its hooves pawed at the concrete. A dark figure, cloaked and hooded, slid down from its back and the mount vanished.

Sera threw herself at the sliding door and wrenched it open, a blast of wind sending her hair streaming out behind her and guttering out the candle on the counter. Rayce ducked through the door, barely managing to slide it closed before Sera threw her arms around him, pulling his lips down to hers.

"Rayce," she whispered desperately in between kisses, her left hand pushing back his hood while her right tangled itself into his hair. She inhaled the scent of him, feeling his breath wash over her as she melted into him. She lightly traced the outline of his low lip with her tongue before pressing herself back into him, wondering belatedly if she was ever going to be able to stop.

His hands came up to her shoulders and gently pushed back. "Sera..."

"No." She stretched up again to cut him off. "Don't say anything," she breathed, parting his lips with hers once more to put his tongue to better use. Sera felt his mouth move in time with hers as he kissed her back, hard, and she seized the opportunity to slip her hands inside his cloak and push up the edge of his shirt, fingers tracing a path to his hips. She broke away from the kiss, her mouth trailing down his neck, tasting the rain on him just as she had last time. This was all she wanted.

He groaned as she pinned him against the glass door with her hips and buried her face in his neck, her hands still roaming freely under his shirt. Rayce sighed deeply, head thrown back, and he made a choice. He closed his fingers around her wrists and rolled to the right, away from the door, where he pinned her in turn against the wall, trapping her arms above her head in his strong grip.

"Sera."

It was too dark to see the gold in her eyes, but he could picture it perfectly in his mind. She shook her head.

"Don't do this, Rayce, please."

"You know I can't stay," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and her head dipped forward for a moment before she looked back at him.

"Then make me like you," she pleaded, continuing even as he shook his head. "I'll join the Hunt, Rayce, I don't care. Don't you get it?"

"You have no Faerie blood, Sera, and the Hunt does not allow for women to join its ranks," he said gently.

"I can follow you then, even if I'm not a Hunter." Her eyes begged for an answer that would keep them together.

"The realm of deep Faerie drives Shadowhunters to madness, and it would tear you apart to try," he fixed his eyes on hers, willing her to remember. "Even just crossing a seam as we entered Idris was causing you pain, Sera. It can't be done. The Hunt rides were no mortal may tread."

He felt a sob rack her body and her arms shook where he still held her pinned. Guilt washed through him and he released her, drawing her against his chest as he stroked her hair soothingly. She buried her face in the collar of his cloak as he held her. Seconds passed and the rain continued to fall on the balcony outside.

Sera pushed back against him suddenly and pounded both of her fists against his chest. "I'm _not_ going to lose you, Rayce. You have to do better than this."

Emotion broke over him and he tilted her face up with his hands to steal more time with her, to lose himself in the feel of her mouth, the scent of her hair, everything. He kissed her with all the love that had bloomed between them in the last week. His lips spoke silently of the faith he had in her, of the trust she had in him. He inhaled deeply, pressing against her with the memories of a ferry ride, of walking in the sunshine under the open sky together, a wonder he had never dreamed of in the Courts. His arms held her gently, mutely thanking her for the best week of his life.

Sera gave herself back to him, sharing the longing that she had nurtured for years, all the endless nights she had spent looking for a way to save him from one fate only to lose him to another that had been so unbelievably unlikely that she hadn't understood it when she'd seen it and made an entry into her notebook. Her breath carried the promise of tomorrow if only he wouldn't leave today.

Her kiss was saying _stay_.

His kiss was saying _goodbye._

He pulled back. "Don't wait for me, Sera," he whispered. "You deserve so much more."

Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked and he hated himself for this, for all of this, for ruining everything in his haste. _You'll do much worse. You'll live._ And this _was_ worse. If he was dead, she could have mourned and moved on.

"I deserve _you,_ Rayce. There was never going to be anyone else for me." She rubbed away her tears angrily. "There has to be a way to free you from this cloak. I will either find a way or make one." Her words clicked in his mind and he heard Zeke once more.

" _Aut invenium viam aut faciam,"_ he whispered.

Sera shook her head in confusion and looked up at him. "What?"

"A message. From Zeke. It's exactly what you just said. 'I will either find a way or make one.' He's already betting on you."

Sera smiled as lightning flashed again and thunder rolled across the lake. She reached up to kiss him one more time.

"Then it's my turn to say this to you, Rayce," she said softly in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Say what?"

" _Have faith."_

 _To be continued..._

 _**Author's note: Rayce, Sera, and the others will return in "Exile of the Clave", coming in June 2016, Raziel willing._

 _If you can see through the tears, please take a moment to leave some feedback in the comment section. Let me know if there are things that I've left hanging that you don't think will be answered in the sequel – I will either answer them here if they won't be covered in EotC, or were inadequately covered in PotC, or make sure that answers will be given when I return to posting next month!_


	21. EotC - The Adventure Continues

May 31/16 - The first chapter for Exile of the Clave is now posted!

Here's a preview of what you'll find...

Wind and rain lashed against the cloak that Rayce wore, threatening to tear it free as the clasp dug into his throat during one particularly vicious gust. _If only it was that simple_ , he thought bitterly as the city of Toronto fell away below his mount's hooves.

Memories of Sera washed over him like the rain and he couldn't help but cling to each one like it was the last one he had. Everything about her was alive in his mind. The sound of her laughter, the sunlight in her hair, the curve of her body against his. His hands tightened on the reins and he felt an ache in his chest. If he didn't hold on to the memories, he would lose even those. The Hunt would take everything from him.

He could still taste Sera's last kiss, the salt of her tears as she had implored him to have faith and not give up. The storm whipped his cloak sideways and he pulled it around himself reluctantly. She didn't know. Not like he did. She didn't have Gwyn's memories.

She hadn't seen how it had all begun, where all of this had started or why. She didn't understand that Gwyn had worn the cloak for centuries upon centuries, that he had had someone searching for a way to free him, too. Sera wasn't immortal. She wouldn't have centuries to waste looking for a solution that didn't exist. His days would stretch out into eternity now until he was killed and the cloak found a new master. Echoes of Gwyn's past pressed in on Rayce's mind, but he shrugged them away. He had to remember her.

He raced through the night sky, galloping through the clouds as if he could leave it all behind him, but he couldn't. His life was shackled to the Hunt now. He had tried to tell her not to wait for him, not to spend what precious time she had searching for a way to free him, but the fire that burned inside of her had blazed up and refused. Guilt crushed through him as he remembered the bloom of hope he had felt at her promise to find a way or make one. It was selfish. He had to let her go. He already knew how this ended.

The storm faded around him as he outdistanced it and continued to ride the wind eastward, making for Cadair Idris where the Hunters would be waiting for him to come and Turn his own brother. He closed his eyes. _Baelerithon._

Gwyn's memories surged forward again at the parallel between them once more, and this time Rayce let them come.

 _The earth was a younger place, a more simple land of Men where the Fey could still play at the edges of their world and take their pleasures without consequences even if the greatest among them had begun to vanish and decline. Many had made themselves known to the humans and basked in the glory of being worshipped as deities or feared as demons. Idols were raised and the most wicked among the Faeries delighted in the sacrifices of flesh and wealth, watering the land with the blood of the innocent to renew their strength._

 _Gwyn ap Nudd was not among those malicious enough to prey on the naivete of the humans. He was First Prince to the Unseelie throne, his father's first-born son, and a warrior of great renown. His days were spent protecting his people from the other supernatural creatures that shared their world... and his nights were spent with his beloved Veralysia. They had taken each other as life-mates and sworn to know no other. She would one day rule the Unseelie Court by his side when his father faded from this world. So many of the Greater Fey had begun to do so that Gwyn feared it would not be long before he ascended the throne._

 _The First Prince knocked softly at the door to his father's chamber and waited to be invited in. At the king's command, he stepped through the doorway to the single room and his eyes were immediately drawn to where his father laid in a stone basin lined with tiny blue-white flames that flickered weakly. The Unseelie King rose from the fire and it died out behind him._

" _My son," he greeted him simply. The king's black hair rippled down to his shoulders, held back by the bronze circlet of the Unseelie crown, and Gwyn swiftly knelt to his sovereign._

" _My king sent for me, and so I have come. What service may I render you?"_

 _A smile touched the Unseelie King's lips, though it did not bring any light to his black eyes. He touched his son's shoulder, bidding him to rise._

" _Your loyalty becomes you, Gwyn. I fear it may be sorely tested after this day." He led them to a simple stone table set against the far wall and took a seat, gesturing for his son to take the place across from him. The king took Gwyn's hands in his own, looking down with sorrow in his eyes._

" _Our people are fading," he began slowly, eyes still fixed on his son's hands. "There are only a few among us who know for certain what is happening, and we have kept our silence while we searched for an answer._

" _The Courts whisper as the greatest among us fade away or are slain. Gone are the days of Erebus and Anubis, the days when we were gods among Men, and now we are reduced to shadows of our former glory as the earth's power wanes. The Eternal Forest is no longer nurtured by the blood of sacrifices to us. The roots draw on dry soil, the leaves whither and fall, and so, too, do we. The humans multiply and spread like a disease across our world, straining the limits of what can be renewed by the Forest. They have disrupted the balance of the earth, but it will be the Fey who pay the price if a solution is not found, for we are bound to this land."_

 _Gwyn was shaking his head minutely, unwilling to accept what his father was telling him, but knowing that it must be true. He closed his big hands over the king's. "What can we do, father?"_

" _The Eternal Forest must be nourished once more, but it lies deep within the realm of Faerie on the very edge of madness and cannot be safely tended for any length of time." He withdrew his hands from his son's and rubbed his temples slowly as if continuing would pain him. "The others and I believe that we have devised away to protect someone from the madness of the Forest, but it would require that they sacrifice a part of themselves, that they be changed to withstand the chaos there."_

 _The prince nodded. "Then we must try. It is our duty to save our people."_

 _Black eyes glittered in the soft white Faerie light and the Unseelie King hesitated. "Gwyn... we can only speculate about what may happen if we call upon our power to create this protection for one of our own. We may not have a second chance. Whomever is chosen to bear this burden must be steadfast in their commitment." He paused again. "Loyal."_

 _Gwyn's lips parted as comprehension dawned on him. "You want it to be me."_


End file.
